Where Idiots Dare
by Startled Boris
Summary: It is World War Two and three Allied soldiers are dropped behind enemy lines. Their mission? To rescue a double agent before he can be tortured by the Nazis. Will they succeed in their mission? Will they have help or hindrance? Will they meet any transvestites? Will there be tea and cake? Starring: England, America, Russia. Other Nations may or may not appear.
1. A Day Out

**Where Idiots Dare**

 **Synopsis: It is World War Two and three Allied soldiers are dropped behind enemy lines. Their mission? To rescue a double agent before he can be tortured by the Nazis. Will they succeed in their mission? Will they have help or hindrance? Will they meet any transvestites? Will there be tea and cake? Starring: England, America, Russia. Other Nations may or may not appear.**

Chapter 1 - "A Day Out"

Major Arthur Kirkland, straightened his uniform and set off across the army base. He passed a set of troops doing bayonet practice and took several salutes from passing officers. He was the personification of the great Nation of England, it was January 1944 and his country was at War.

He hurried past some 'show-off' Americans who were demonstrating 'fancy karate-kicking', one of them, a particularly loud-mouthed individual, yelled "Yo!" at him. The cheek of it!

As he entered the Base Commander's hut, he had to step over the feet of another individual who was sat with legs sprawled out, apparently unconscious at the bottom of the steps.

"Bloody hell!" he muttered. Where did they get these reprobates? He didn't look at the man's face. But took note of the non-commissioned uniform of dirty beige long coat, filthy looking scarf and empty drinks bottle and decided he would reprimand the man later after his meeting with Colonel MacDonald. Obviously the man was drunk.

"Cup of tea?"

"Very nice, thank you," Major Kirkland/England replied. "But can we get down to brass tacks, old spoon? I was told to report as there was a special mission for me."

"Erm I'm just the secretary, I'm afraid… the Colonel will be along in a minute…"

The door to the hut burst open and Arthur's cup of tea was almost blown out of his hand.

"I say! Is that necessary?" England turned to look at a dumpy-looking woman who had just clattered in with a tea trolley. She had fiery red hair hidden under under a filthy green knitted bonnet and was wearing an equally none too clean pinny.

"Excuse me, my dear lady. But this is a top secret meeting. Can you just run along now?" England said.

The woman glared at him, bent down and rolled up her sagging stockings with a horrid suggestive air. "Yer dinnae recognise me, Arthur?"

England frowned and turned to the secretary, who was a nondescript human in civvy clothing. "Well? What's going on?"

"Erm this is Colonel MacDonald, Sir. He's our Number One."

"What?"

"Our Number One. Head of MI8. Special Operations behind Enemy Lines."

"Aye I bloody am!" the 'woman' said. 'She' cast off her woolen hat and glared at him, "Do ye not recognise me, Arthur?"

"Oh dear God… Hamish…" Arthur sagged down into the nearest seat. "I thought you were in bloody Glasgow. You told me in your last letter you were in charge of the City's Unexploded Bomb Department."

"Aye, that was too boring for me!" Hamish told him. "I need something more risky."

Hamish was England's brother, the personification of the Nation of Scotland and the bane of his long life. "You… outrank me?" England was utterly amazed and appalled - in equal measure.

"Never mind that rubbish," Hamish pulled out a bottle of Scotch and then pulled down a map of Europe on the wall. He poured a glass of whisky, offered one to Arthur, who declined and then pointed vaguely to an area on the map.

England squinted, it could be anywhere in Germany.

"Yer to go behind enemy lines and rescue our top shpy!" Hamish told him.

"Right-o!" England said, pushing his chest out. "Do you mean spy?"

"No, shpy. He's our top double agent. He works for them but works for us, but spies for us. Yer know…"

"Not really…" England was confused.

"It's a dangerous mission, Arthur. Yer might not survive…" Hamish seemed to be quite happy about this. In fact, if Arthur wasn't mistaken, he was positively gleeful.

"For King and Country, I'll do whatever it takes. I think."

"Aye I thought yer might."

"When do I start?"

"Tonight. I hope yer've made yer will. Leaving all yer worldly goods to yer relatives."

"I'll leave my 18th Century Chinese tea urn to Wales then."

"What about that set of dirty French postcards?"

"I don't know what you mean?" Arthur was indignant, blushing madly.

"Anyway, I want to introduce you to your fellow martyrs."

"You mean fellow heroes?"

"Er yeah. I suppose so…" Hamish said.

"So who are they? The elite of the elite? The top SAS officers?" England asked.

Hamish looked as if he were going to laugh, but covered it with a cough. "They are masters of spying… they can blend into any country, adopt any custom… they are experts… the Germans won't even know you are there."

The door burst open and the annoying back-flipping America burst in. "Yo! Artie Dude!"

"Oh Alfred! What are you doing here?" England asked.

"You ignored me earlier, man!" America looked upset.

"Look, run along. We're in an important meeting. I'm waiting for some elite spies to join me in this mission I'm going on."

"Cool…" America said, wide-eyed. "Is that the same one I'm going on?" he asked, turning to Hamish.

"You've got to be kidding," England said.

"Aye sonny, it is," Hamish told America and handed England a glass of whisky.

"We're going to kick Nazi ass!" America yelled.

"Keep your voice down, this is supposed to be a secret mission!" Engand said.

"Hell yeah it is! Bagsy I get dropped first! Man, I love para jumps!"

"Oh God, why him?" England said to Hamish.

Hamish shook his head, "He's supposed to be their top field operative."

"No way," England muttered.

"I love fields!" America yelled exuberantly.

"It's much too dangerous for him behind enemy lines. He can't even speak German," England said to Hamish as America leapt about practising karate chops.

"Neither can you," Hamish said.

England took a swig of whisky. He felt he needed it. "Who's the other one? Please say it's someone like Belgium, I mean er… Louise or that Dutch chappie, he's quite good, at least they can speak German."

But Hamish didn't have to answer.

"We need someone who can truly stay undercover and not draw attention to themselves, someone inconspicuous…" England continued.

The door was flung open and an icy blast came through with a flurry of snow. Probably the most conspicuous person England knew came through the door.

"Privet!"

"Oh no…"

"You stepped over me earlier, Mr England. I thought about removing your spine with Mr Pipe, but then I thought that that would be rude," the tall man in the dirty beige coat said. He was muffled up with a long pink scarf around the bottom half of his face and held an empty bottle in his hand.

"Please tell me this is a joke," England said, quietly, to Hamish.

"Nah it's not." Hamish laughed.

"This is going to be such fun. All of us together!" Russia said. "Although you annoyed me earlier, England, I will forgive you…" Russia said, bending 'Mr Pipe' into a rectangle.

England shuddered.

An hour later…

England could not see a thing. Russia's huge blond head obscured what was in front of him.

They were sat at desks in what appeared to be a disused classroom.

Hamish was pointing to a large map on the wall with his 'pointy stick' that no-one was allowed to touch and telling them that they were to meet the top French Resistance agent called 'Marianne' in a bar in a village called 'Farting'.

Alfred had almost wet his pants at that.

England was trying to write everything down in a small black notebook. Including the codes they were to use.

Russia turned to look at him with a grin on his face, "What are you writing, England? Are we all supposed to be making notes? Is there homework?"

Russia didn't wait for an answer but stuck his hand up, "Mr Scotland?"

Hamish nodded at him, "Yes, sonny?"

"Can I have a notebook and pen as well?"

"Yes yer can!"

"This is very good. I am very impressed," Russia said. "In Soviet Russia we do not have pens, we use guns… but we have to kill a Nazi to get one."

"Can I kill a Nazi as well?" America asked, sticking his hand up in the air.

"If you want…" Scotland replied.

"Ace!" America said.

Russia put his hand up.

"Yes, Ivan?"

"Do we have to kill one to get a gun?" Russia asked.

"No, we'll arm you before you go."

Russia's eyes widened, "That is very good. I am very impressed," he said.

England sighed and put his head on the desk.

"And then you are to make your way to the Castle of …" Hamish continued and then stopped as Russia stuck his hand up again, "Yes, Ivan?"

"Can I take my friends with me?"

"Friends?"

Russia nodded and whistled - as if he were whistling for a dog.

The door opened and two people walked in, both in Red Army uniform. One was carrying a tea-tray with cups and a teapot on it. The other was carrying, weirdly, a briefcase.

"Lithuania!" America leapt to his feet and went to hug the one carrying a tea-tray.

Russia frowned at them and Lithuania shook his head hurriedly at America, who backed off.

"Lithuania is mine now, Amerika, remember?"

"Oh dear God…" England muttered.

"This is Lithuania and Estonia and they can come with me, right?" Russia asked.

"Well…" Hamish began.

Estonia dropped his briefcase, and began coughing. A false cough if ever England had heard one.

"Oh I'm… cough cough… not so well… cough… Sir… you see… cough cough… I think I should… cough cough… stay here in England and… cough cough…"

"Anyone want a cup of a tea?" Lithuania interrupted.

"Poor Estonia! It's such a shame, I bet he really wants to come with us on this really dangerous mission and face certain death," Russia declared, he then turned to Lithuania, "Yes, please!"

"Do you have any coffee?" America asked.

England interrupted, "I'm sorry, but what the bloody hell?"

Russia stared at him, "I'm sorry, Mr England. Lithuania doesn't have any biscuits and…"

"No, I mean, what the bloody hell are they doing here? This is supposed to be a secret briefing!"

"Is that something to do with underwear?" America asked.

"Aye, sonny, it is," Hamish answered for him and took a cup off Lithuania and slurped it noisily.

"No, it's not! It's to do with… wait what?"

"Briefs… underwear…" America tried to explain.

"I'm surrounded by fools," England said.

Lithuania handed Russia a small package, "I got this for you, Sir."

"Thank you, Toris," Russia said, smiling.

"Wait, what's that? Is it something that could compromise our mission? Hamish?"

"Aye I bet it is, laddie," Hamish replied, not listening but looking at his map and prodding it with his 'poking stick'.

Russia held it up, "It's my packed lunch! Toris, you should make one for Mr England and Mr Amerika as well. Beetroot sandwiches with pickled cabbage and salted pork!"

England was speechless.

"Can I have peanut butter?" America asked.

"Nyet," Russia told him.

"Can we just get on with the bloody de-briefing?" England reminded Hamish. Before, I go completely mad, he thought to himself.

"Oh aye… well, ye're to get into the Castle Farting…"

"We've got to go to the Castle and fart?" America asked, wide-eyed. He was still negotiating with Lithuania his sandwich fillings.

Hamish looked at him and said, "Aye laddie. This is no picnic!"

"It isn't?" Russia looked dismayed.

"Ye're to get into the castle…" Hamish continued.

America, his tongue stuck out, was making notes - he wrote 'Get into castle and fart'.

"…And rescue our top secret double agent," Hamish told them.

"How do we know who they are if they're secret?" America asked, and looked pleased with himself for thinking of this.

"Our agent has been captured and it's your job to rescue him before he squeals…"

"You mean he's a mouse?" Russia asked, his eyes wide.

Hamish stared at Russia for a minute and then said, "No. Not a mouse. A person. He's a double agent… wait a treble agent… wait no…"

"There's no such thing as a quadruple agent, Hamish," England interrupted with a sigh.

"Yer dinnae know that."

"Actually, I do."

"Anyway, our agent has been spying for us," Scotland said.

"You mean he's just a single agent?" England said.

"You mean he's not married?" America asked.

England smacked his head several times on the desk.

"Anyway, your job is to get him out before the pesky Germans can get any details out of him of what he passed on to us about them…"

America looked confused and put his hand up, "Do we have to get him out before he gets married?"

"HE'S NOT GETTING MARRIED!" England yelled. "IT'S PERFECTLY BLOODY SIMPLE. HE'S AN AGENT WORKING FOR US, SPYING ON THE GERMANS. THEY HAVE DISCOVERED HIM. WE HAVE TO GET HIM OUT BEFORE THEY CAN EXTRACT ANY INFORMATION FROM HIM!" He then sat down, exhausted.

"Ah, I see… they want to know what they've told him, because they can't remember." America said.

"NO! They want to know what information he's passed to us… Oh dear God! It's simple!"

"You need to calm down, Artie," America said.

"Yes, England. If this man needs rescuing before marrying some German then it's our job to help him," Russia declared, looking round the room.

England gave up and collapsed in his seat.

"It may not be a 'him'. It might be a 'her'!" Hamish said, mysteriously.

"Well then. We should definitely rescue her then!" Russia exclaimed.

"Yes! Like a damsel in distress!" America agreed.

"Da! Like those princesses in the stories," Russia nodded.

"Yes, think of it like that…" Hamish said, took another large swig of his whisky and collapsed unconscious.

* * *

"We're going to rescue a princess!" Lieutenant (England was amazed at this) Alfred F Jones yelled to his fellow Americans as he, Russia and England set off across the airfield towards the waiting plane.

"Cool!"

"Dude!"

"Groovy!"

Came some of the shouts back.

England winced. Russia stared in fascination.

"They are very loud and excitable," Russia said to England.

"Tell me about it," England said as they climbed into the plane.

"But one day they will all be Russian and then they won't be excitable," Russia added.

"Wait! Mr Russia!" It was Lithuania. He came running up to the plane, panting. "You forgot your clean handkerchief! Miss Ukraine sent it and said you have to be careful and not get cold."

Russia smiled, "My older sestra looks after me," he explained.

"Why don't we get a clean handkerchief?" America asked.

England shoved him into the plane, "Just get in there," he said.

"Do you think we'll be back in time for tea?" Russia asked, clutching his sandwich.

"Yes, it will be just like a day trip," England muttered.

The plane took off as they strapped themselves in.

Russia clutched a pipe, a machete and a sub-machine gun (he was particularly impressed with the latter and couldn't believe that they'd actually given him ammunition). "I probably won't need the gun," he told America. "I like to use my hands."

America went pale, "Artie, I think Russkie-dude is creepy… does he have to come with us?"

"Shut up," England muttered. He went over the plan in his head. It should all be okay, as long as he could remember the bloody codes and passwords…

"Are we there yet?" America asked as they flew over the Channel.

"What do you think?" England said, pointing to the sea below them.

"Er… I don't see no castle…" America ruminated.

"Can we jump now? We could swim the rest of the way!" Russia declared.

"What all the way to the Austrian border?" England said.

"We're going to Australia? Wow! Hey you, cobber! Good on yer!" America said, trying out what he thought was his 'Australian' accent.

"Australia? Are you insane?"

"Well… you said…"

Russia nodded, "Can we just call in on Leningrad? I have some things to pick up and make sure the city is okay. They've just come out of the siege and I could bring them some sandwiches and…"

"No! This is not a sandwich delivery service! We're on a dangerous mission!" England shouted.

Russia sat in a haze of purple mist and growled, bending his pipe into numerous shapes and glaring occasionally at England.

America mumbled to himself something about wanting to see 'kangaroos' and that 'old man England was boring'.

Fairly soon they were over the Austrian mountains. "Right this is your stop!" the pilot shouted.

America opened the door and peered out, the wind rushed in.

"Wow!" America yelled. "We're really high up!"

"Get your bloody 'chute on, Alfred!" England yelled.

"I don't need a 'chute!" Russia said and, clutching his weapons and his packed lunch (and presumably his clean handkerchief), he leapt out of the door shouting, "See you later! Vodkaaaaaa!"

"Well… there goes our pet psychopath," England muttered.

He and America hoisted their parachutes on and America jumped, yelling, "Victory!" as he went.

England went last, "Crumpets!" he shouted. His thoughts as white mountains rushed up towards him were these: "I hope Russia is alright and we don't have to explain his death to Stalin or even worse, his sisters. I hope America remembers to land properly. I hope I remembered to pack my teabags."

**To be continued**


	2. Smooth Landings

**Acknowledgements:**

 **Thank you for those who have reviewed, followed and favourited this story: ShrapnelGirl, Irish Maid, Kadek-is-the-best, Quity190, nekohime15, ApplePajama.**

 **Where Idiots Dare**

 **Chapter 2 - Smooth landings**

England really hoped that America and Russia had landed properly - in the latter's case, hoped that Russia did not have a broken back. As for himself, England was stuck in a tree.

He cursed his parachute and struggled to free himself. He managed to dig out a knife from his belt and cut his way through one strap of his 'chute and was manfully sawing his way through the other shoulder strap.

He gritted his teeth when he heard an annoying voice below.

"Yo! Are you stuck, man?"

"No. I'm just stuck up here hanging around for the good of my health. What else would I be doing in enemy territory? Waiting for a sodding bus?!"

America frowned and looked confused.

England forgot that the boy could not cope with more than one question at a time.

"Where is Russia?" England called. He tried not to shout as they were behind enemy lines and he was aware that the might of the German army could descend on them at any moment.

"What?" America yelled.

"Is Russia okay?"

England could see America shrug in the gloom. Obviously, the Russian had not survived the fall. Who could? They had jumped at around 10,000 feet onto a region of the Austrian Alps in growing darkness in temperatures of minus 10, or bloody freezing.

England was getting tired of sawing through the shoulder strap, "Give me a hand with this parachute," he called.

America looked puzzled, "Can't hear you, Artie. You're still stuck up a tree."

"I bloody know that!" England yelled and then hurriedly quietened down. "Give me a hand!" he hissed. He was sure their shouts would wake up the whole Western German Army.

"Do you want a hand? Why did you land there? I landed over there..."

England gritted his teeth and watched in annoyance as America deftly climbed the tree like a monkey and promptly cut England's parachute free.

England fell with a flump to the floor before he'd even had chance to brace himself.

"I thought you said you were an expert parachutist, dude?" America asked.

England ignored him. He gathered up his pack and turned to get his bearings.

They were in deep snow in a valley with towering mountains around them. "I think we are lost. We need to radio in and tell HQ that Russia is lost in action and possibly dead..."

America looked at him blankly. "Do you mean that Russian dude with us?"

"Yes, who do you think I mean?"

"I'm not sure... " America looked confused.

England took the radio out of his sack and began to 'dial in', wincing a little at the codename Hamish had, "Braveheart, come in this is Peter Pan."

"No, you're Arthur, Arthur," America said, and said it with conviction and a slightly condescending air.

"Yes, I bloody know!"

"Oh okay..."

"Braveheart... this is Peter Pan, come in Braveheart."

"Who's Braveheart?"

"Hamish! It's his codename. Remember, we came up with the codenames?"

America nodded and then shook his head.

"You're Prince Charming, remember?"

"Oh yes! But why?"

Arthur was about to explain or try to when Hamish came through, crackling, "This is Braveheart, what do ye want? Are ye moaning already? Ye only just bloody got there? Get on with it!"

Arthur growled, "We're checking in with you. It's standard military procedure."

"Aye is it? Checking in? Ye're not at a bloody hotel! Ye're on a dangerous mission and facing certain death.."

"I think Big Bad Wolf has bought it already."

"Bought what? Souvenirs? Ye can't claim on expenses."

"No I mean he's lost in action."

"Ye've lost one already? Jeez Peter Pan..." Hamish' voice was so loud he made the radio crackle.

"No I mean he didn't use a parachute..."

"Aye well... Ye'll just have to fill in a form when ye get back…"

"Braveheart? What are my instructions when in the village?"

"Yer to go to the tavern and the signal is Greensleeves…"

"Do I have to sing it? That's not going to go down well in an Austrian Tyrolean village tavern in the middle of a war."

"Aye…"

"Braveheart? Answer please?"

I'm going into a tunnel now so I'm losing ye..." there came a sound of rattling - which was probably just Hamish/Braveheart rattling a cup of tea or glass of whisky next to the radio and then silence.

"I hate my brother," England said, putting away the radio.

"I love my brother. He's a dude," America declared.

"Hmmm... now we'll try to find which way to the village.."

"What's the name of the village, Artie?"

"Farting."

"Well excuse me... you should get some tablets for that."

"No, not me!"

Arthur found his compass deep in his rucksack. He was relieved to find his teabags and a map.

"Right… let's see… that's north…"

"You mean 'up'?"

"What?"

"Up."

"It's north, Alfred," England said.

"Yeah okay…" America shook his head.

"That's north, east, south, west…" England said slowly, pointing out the points on the compass.

"Up, left, down, the other left and pivot," America said, pointing them out.

"What? Left and other left? Pivot?"

"Yes. I don't know what they teach you at military school," America said, definitely.

"Are you mad?"

"No, I'm okay."

England seriously wondered if somebody high up was playing some kind of enormous practical joke on him. He ignored Alfred. "Right…" he muttered to himself.

"No, left," America said.

England turned to look at him. The American was stood in his white camouflage gear, a rifle over his shoulder, a backpack on and was chewing gum. He looked totally at ease.

England hated gum chewing. "Spit that gum out, Alfred," England said and consulted his compass again. "We go north from here and then head east I think," he muttered to himself. There was no point telling the boy. Surely, he would just follow?

America frowned, "Up, then left?"

"Don't be stupid! And stop chewing!" England yelled.

"There's no need to shout!" America yelled back.

England took a deep breath and counted to ten, "North, east… then we should come to this small outcrop here…" England pointed to his map, "Then we can come into the village from the west and undercover…"

America spat out his gum (which annoyed England - he hated littering) and lit a cigarette instead. He hoisted his rifle on his back and set off - in the wrong direction, whistling.

England hurried after him, "You're going the wrong way!"

"Yer know, dude. You're making things very complicated," America told him.

Arthur caught up with him and swiped him around the head with his map. "I'm your superior and you should follow my orders!" he told him. He really didn't want to pull rank but felt he should.

America looked hurt and felt his head, "Ow! That really hurt!"

England did it again and found himself flat on his back in the snow as America shoved him over.

"I'm not having this!" England said to himself and jumped up and shoved the American back.

"Dude!" Alfred exclaimed as he fell over and then grabbed England and pulled him down.

They wrestled ineffectually in the snow. England was aware that his teabags and scones were probably getting squashed in his backpack and with renewed vigour, he tried to throw America onto his back. Alfred was too heavy though and sat on England's stomach grinning, his glasses askew. "Haha! You can't beat me!"

"I think you overdid it on the Thanksgiving turkey," England told him.

America was about to say something when they were interrupted by a distinctive 'click click' sound of a gun being loaded.

They froze.

"Damn," England thought. They hadn't even got to the village and started their mission. They'd been in enemy territory for all of 20 minutes.

"Oh! Privet! It's you two! What are you doing?" It was Russia.

England relaxed, a little at least.

America jumped up, "It's not what you think!" he told Russia.

"I suppose not… It's not for me to judge," Russia said, still aiming his gun at them.

England stood up and brushed the snow off him. "I thought you were dead!" he said and then said, "Erm can you not aim that gun at me, old chap?"

"Nyet!" Russia said and then, "Da!" the big Russian turned away and strode off. "I made tea!" he called over his shoulder.

England and America followed, dazedly. They found that Russia had indeed 'made tea'. He had also dug out a rudimentary snow shelter, made a small fire and boiled water in a tin can to make tea.

"Wow! This is cool, man!" America told the Russian.

Russia nodded, happy.

"How did you survive the fall without a parachute?" England asked, utterly amazed.

"I'm Russian! I know all about snow and how to fall. It's easy," Russia told him. "I saw you in your parachute… why did you fall into that tree?"

"That's what I said!" America said, clapping the Russian on the shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" Russia said, stepping away from the American.

"Very good… yes, very good… I'll put in a good word with you at headquarters. That fire though… we don't want to call attention to our position and bring the enemy here," England said, feeling a little disgruntled, but he couldn't say why.

"Why not?" Russia frowned.

"We don't want the whole of the German army coming here," England told him and stamped out the fire.

Russia looked appalled, "Well I do! How do we kill them then?" A purple mist hovered around his shoulders and he gripped his gun in one hand and what looked to be a piece of bathroom plumbing in the other.

England really hoped the plumbing came from Scotland's bathroom.

"We're not here to kill Germans, we're here to rescue…" England began to say.

"… A princess!" America finished for him.

Russia's eyes lit up. "A princess?" he breathed.

"Yeah, that's what Uncle Hamish said," America nodded with certainty and turned to trudge down the hill. "Come on, men!"

"She will be mine…" Russia breathed and turned to go in the complete opposite direction.

England shook his head. He seriously wondered if he'd been thrown into this mission with two lunatic asylum escapees.

"Come back, both of you!" he yelled. He consulted his compass.

"Wut?"

"What dude?"

The two jogged back to England and both looked annoyed.

"It's this way," England said with a sigh and pointed in a completely different direction.

Russia shrugged and turned to lope back where he came from.

"Ah well, never mind Artie, we'll let him get on with it. We might see him later," America shrugged.

* * *

Some time later, America and England were finally hiding behind the rocky outcrop England had formerly identified as a look-out onto the village. It had taken approximately two hours longer than it should have - after various looping back, peering at the compass and arguing.

The village of Farting was below them. It twinkled in the snowy landscape. Mount 'Untergang' loomed over it and atop this was Farting Castle or Castle Farting (England wasn't sure which) with just a cable car reaching it. There appeared to be no other way to the castle and England was sure as eggs are eggs that it would be heavily guarded (no matter what America said - Germans did not just 'take a day off' or 'wander off to look at flowers'.

England took out his binoculars and scanned the vista below him. The village was a typical Austrian village with steep roofs, cattle sheds and… a big Russian in white camo waving at them.

England put down his binoculars and rubbed his eyes. He put them back and looked again. Russia came back into view - still waving. Right in the middle of the village square.

"Fucking hell!" England muttered. He gestured for Russia to get the hell out of sight and held his breath as two Germans strode past the Russian. Ivan waved at England and then was suddenly out of sight. England breathed a sigh of relief and then almost threw up as Russia appeared back in sight with a decapitated head in each hand.

"Oh dear God!" he said, flinging the binoculars down in the snow and sitting back. He shakily lit a cigarette. Next to him America was looking in wonder at his compass.

"N, E, S, W…"

"Do you understand yet?" England asked. Anything, he thought, to take his mind of what he'd just witnessed.

"Yeah… North Dakota, South Dakota, Wyoming and that E should be an M and is Minnesota."

England nodded. He really couldn't be bothered to explain. He shakily looked through his binoculars again and saw Russia, thankfully not holding any heads, gesturing at him to come down.

"Come on, Alfred," England said and began to clamber down.

"Are we going 'North Dakota'?"

"Yes, whatever," England sighed. He doubted that they would ever come out of this alive…

* * *

"Where were you?" Russia asked them as they reached the village. They went from building to building, hiding and approached the Russian warily. He was sat on a bench next to a cattle shed.

"Bloody hiding. What the bloody hell are you doing?" England asked him.

"My job," Russia said simply. He looked amazed that they were 'sneaking around' as America had put it.

"Those Germans you killed… where are the bodies?" England asked him. He looked around nervously. Surely there would be an all-out alarm/klaxon ringing by now that the village had been infiltrated?

But there wasn't - just snow falling and the sounds of raucous laughter and music from the tavern.

"In there!" Russia pointed to a nearby shed.

"Wow! Do you have any ammo left, dude? You're gonna need it," America asked him.

"I didn't use my gun," Russia said, chillingly.

They stepped into the cattle shed, "We can take the uniforms and then I am undercover in the tavern and…" England began but quickly shut up. There were a dozen bodies piled up. All German soldiers. All with looks of horror and terror etched on their faces.

"Da! You can pick which size fits you!" Russia told him.

"Wow…" America muttered.

* * *

Russia refused to wear a German uniform. He sat in a dark corner of the village square, brandishing his piece of plumbing and told America and England (now dressed as a German Sergeant and Major respectively - England refusing to take a lower rank than America) to "get on with it or he was going home".

"Let's do this, Alfred," England said, straightening his uniform.

"What? Are we going in there?" America asked, pointing at the Tavern.

"Yes, I need to make contact with someone who can get us into the castle."

America looked confused. "Really?"

"Yes, remember our briefing?"

"Not really, I was reading my comic."

"Well let's do this, don't say anything, just try to look German…"

America still looked worried, "It's full of Germans!"

"Yes! We're in Austria!"

"Oh that's alrighty then…" America was about to stride in.

England stopped him, "Alfred! They speak German!"

"Not Austrian?"

"No, this isn't Australia, it's Austria…" England explained slowly, thinking America was just geographically ignorant as usual.

"I know that! Dude… it's too cold for Australia! But if we're in Austria, that's okay isn't it?"

"No! They speak German and they are on Germany's side in the war. They were annexed by Germany remember?"

"No way dude! Annexed? You mean they were all put in a little room?"

"Alfred, I don't have time for this. We need to go in that building there and I need to sing Greensleeves…"

"Well whatever turns you on, man. I just need a beer. Although if you want my advice…"

"I don't…"

"You can't really sing, can you?"

England spluttered, "What? Of course I can. I have a wonderful singing voice. An unusual timbre I believe Queen Victoria called it."

"Yeah well… she was a bit weird as well."

England was about to retort but headed up the steps to the Tavern, "Remember, don't say a word…"

"How do you ask for a beer?"

"Ein Bier bitte." (England had to dredge this up from his memory banks, he knew 'one' was 'ein', that 'bier' was 'beer' and virtually identical and of course, as an Englishman, he knew what 'please' was in nearly every language.)

"You can't just make stuff up, Artie."

"It is!"

"Okay, chill your beans," America muttered and strode into the tavern, completely unfazed.

England shuddered and followed him.

The tavern was busy, as England feared it would be. Full of German soldiers and officers. England made his way through the throng and tried to keep his eye on Alfred. The 'boy' had already disappeared. Ah well, surely he could be trusted to do nothing too stupid. All the boy had to do was order a beer and keep quiet.

England cast around for his 'contact'. A double agent working behind enemy lines. Someone who could fit in perfectly. A master of disguise. Someone who had been working undercover for years. Someone with inside knowledge of the castle to help them get the Double Agent (Code-Name XXX according to Hamish or sometimes XX, or even just X) out of the Castle.

Nobody fitted the bill even remotely. Even if he squinted. He spotted an Austrian man dressed as a shepherd sat in a corner drinking what looked to be the local brew but glaring at the Germans around him. He looked suspicious, ridiculously so. There were no sheep around here. This was cattle grazing country in the summer and now it was winter. England approached him, ready to tell the man off. What a poor disguise!

England cleared his throat and sat down at the man's table, leaned across and, remembering America's cruel taunting words about his voice, began to sing, "Alas, my love you do me wrong…"

But England didn't even get to the second line before the 'shepherd' (England was still sure he wasn't any such thing) yelled something indignantly in German, leapt to his feet and stalked out.

"Hmm…" England thought to himself. He ignored the German officer stood behind him who was winking at him. Doubtless the Germanic idiot thought he, England, was some kind of sexual deviant who propositioned men in pubs.

"Wine and bitter, please," America was asking the barmaid at the bar. This bore absolutely no relation to what England had told him to say. Thankfully though it caused hilarity at the bar where German soldiers laughed hysterically and clapped him on the back.

"You are very funny, ja?" they yelled (in German) "You do the impersonation of stupid English really well!"

America of course had no idea what they were saying but nodded and to his delight was bought several rounds of beer.

England scoured the bar and spotted a shady-looking man at the bar. There was a spy if ever there was one. He headed towards him, side-stepped Alfred, who was waving a huge tankard of beer around and talking in a ridiculous Australian accent - which the Germans seemed to think was hilarious. (They were under the impression he was a comedian.)

"Alas, my love…" England began to sing but was spun round on his heels by a buxom blond barmaid.

"I say!" England said and then hurriedly covered this up with, "Ein Bier bitte!" he exclaimed quickly.

He didn't get chance to say anything else, as he was pulled into a deep embrace and kissed passionately on the mouth.

He pulled away. Bloody Austrian women, he thought. She stank of cheap aftershave and had more stubble than he did! He spat and tried to clear his mouth, aware of Germans laughing around him and a particular German officer who was looking heart-broken (obviously England wasn't his 'type' after all).

"Bloody hell!" he muttered and then said quickly, the only exclamation he knew in German that would fit, "Mein Gott!"

"Oh Arthur! Mon amor! You do not recognise moi? Even avec all zis rouge?" came a horribly familiar voice.

**To Be Continued**


	3. Idiots and Interrogations

**Acknowledgements:**

 **Thank you for those who have reviewed, followed and favourited this story: ShrapnelGirl, Irish Maid, Kadek-is-the-best, Quity190, nekohime15, ApplePajama.**

 **Where Idiots Dare**

Chapter 3: Idiots and Interrogations

America fell out of the tavern, down the steps and clapped several German soldiers on the back as he went. They were all laughing. "See you later, guys! We'll do it all again next week!" he yelled.

"What a wheeze," he said to Russia.

"What do you mean?" Russia stepped out of the shadows of the alley behind the tavern.

America showed him the pile of coins thrown at him while he'd sung a mish-mash of American show tunes.

Russia looked in wonder. "You got paid to kill them? I didn't get paid!"

America frowned at this, "What do you mean, dude?"

Russia pointed to the pile of bodies behind him. All had the same terrified expression on their faces. "They didn't pay me!"

"Right…" America said and backed away slowly.

Russia began to tell him how he'd jumped out at the Germans as they'd passed. Some had died of shock before Russia had even laid a hand on them. He was disappointed in this, he told America.

America pointed at Russia's lead pipe, "Why is there notches on there, dude Russkie?"

Russia smiled creepily, "It represents the number of Germans I have killed."

"Wow! You've killed loads! Was that in the battle of Stalingrad?"

"Nyet. Just today."

"Oh…" America was silenced for a while. At least a minute anyhow. Then he said, "Guess what? Dude England pulled!"

"Pulled a muscle?"

"No! He pulled a bird!" America said, trying to use an English idiom.

"You mean like a chicken? Good, because I ate all my sandwiches."

"No, I mean he picked up a woman!"

Russia almost fell over. "That is amazing. Is that part of the mission? Is she the princess?"

America hadn't considered this, but now he did. "Oh my God! Dude Artie rescued the princess without us!"

"Are we going home now?" Russia asked. He would have liked to stay there all night, killing Germans as they passed but really he should be in his own country killing Germans.

America was still annoyed and didn't answer the Russian's question, "Bloody Artie! He's a sly one. Mind you… she didn't look very pretty."

Russia hummed over this, "Princesses should be pretty," he said wisely. He looked up and pointed, "Is that her?" he said with some disbelief.

England was coming down the steps followed by the buxom blond barmaid.

"Wait Arthur!" the barmaid called and then stopped on the steps to adjust 'her' stockings again, before hurrying after him.

"I cannot believe this!" Arthur said, as he approached America. He was still wiping his mouth, and couldn't wait to get his backpack and find his toothbrush to brush his teeth. "Bleurgh!" he said and tried to clear his mouth again.

"Oh mon ami!" the barmaid cried. "You cannot mean this… Oh bonjour, Alfred… you are looking very erm…"

"Heroic?" America said. "Do I know you?" he peered at the mascara'd eyes, the rouge, the bright red lipstick (now smeared). He tried not to look at the very tight miniskirt which revealed quite shapely legs and the straining bosom.

"Oh Alfred!" the barmaid said, playfully swiping the American on his arm, "You're are awful! But I like you!"

Arthur thought he was going to throw up. "Where's the stuff we stashed, Russia?" he asked. "Let's get out of here and get on with the mission."

Russia had been staring at England, then the barmaid and then at America and then back again. He shrugged, "Hello Francis. What are you doing here?" he asked and began to lead them back where he'd stashed America's and England's backpacks.

"Je m'appelle Marianne!" Francis said, smiling through gritted teeth. A spy had to keep their cover at all costs.

"You've got an apple? Marianne? That's a nice name… Are you the princess?" America asked 'her' and took her arm, like a gentleman should do.

"I can be whoever you want me to be!" Marianne/Francis said suggestively and batted his/her false eyelashes at him.

"Oh God…" Arthur groaned.

* * *

Somewhere high above them, in the Castle Farting…

Major Gilbert Beilschmidt strutted down a stone corridor. God, he felt good. He had an ace uniform on, an Iron Cross which he'd stolen from his brother, and he had been re-instated to officer rank after having been demoted three times in short succession due to a series of unfortunate events.

He was still rankling over these. It hadn't been his fault that that tank regiment had gone over a cliff. He'd said 'over there', and then been distracted by some idiot who couldn't sing 'Der Preußlenlied' properly, so had had to teach it him. He'd been told he couldn't be in charge of any more Panzer divisions.

Then there was that bombing expedition over to England when he'd supposedly been in charge of loading the bombs. Apparently, flour bombs, although funny, were not effective. So he'd been taken out of the Luftwaffe.

He didn't even want to think about when he'd sunk that u-boat. Who knew you weren't supposed to pull out the plug? So his very short-lived (two days) career in the Kriegsmarine was over as well.

So now he had been given the job of interrogator. And he was good at it. In fact, everyone was amazed at how quickly he got information from prisoners.

He did little hop, skips and jumps down the corridor. He was really going to enjoy interrogating this particular prisoner. Oh yes. This one would scream and scream…

He motioned to the guards to open the door and entered.

The cell was dark and damp. The prisoner was sat on a low bench in the corner and looked - to Gilbert - terrified. (They weren't.)

He motioned to the guards to shut and lock the door.

He then hesitated and then knocked on the door until the guards re-opened the door.

"Get me a bloody light. Are you being bloody funny?" he asked impatiently.

The guards trembled and said nothing but saluted. One of them returned with a lamp.

Gilbert nodded satisfied, "Well put it in there then," he ordered.

The guard did, opening the door and locking it again - leaving Gilbert now outside the cell…

Gilbert sighed and hit the guard around the head until the guard re-opened the door for the fourth time and allowing Gilbert in.

He waited until they had turned the key and then turned theatrically to the prisoner, who had been watching all this silently from their bunk.

"I can see you are terrified. And so you should be!" Gilbert announced and took off his greatcoat. It landed in quite dirty straw. So he picked it up and tried to hang it on the back of the door. There was no hook. So he folded it neatly and placed it carefully at the door so he wouldn't forget it. He wasn't going to do that again in a hurry.

The prisoner just stared at him and then yawned.

"I am going to make this easy on you… You vill tell me all that you know…" Gilbert said, rolling up his sleeves.

"Why are you using that ridiculous accent?" the prisoner asked.

"Shut up! You vill listen to me and tell me all that you know!"

The prisoner was silent.

"Vell?"

"How can I tell you all that I know if I'm supposed to listen to you?"

Gilbert strutted up and down all this time and then suddenly leapt in front of the prisoner and pulled a disgusting face. "You are not making this very easy for yourself! I can make things very difficult and painful for you!"

"Yes I can imagine…"

"Vat do you mean?"

"Just being in your presence is painful enough. Why are you wearing that ridiculous monocle? You never used to have trouble with your eyesight."

"It makes me look villainous," Gilbert said, stepping back. He liked his monocle. All villains had them. The only thing was it kept falling out. Also, as he'd stolen it from some General and it wasn't plain glass - he couldn't see a thing out of it through that eye. So he had to keep swapping eyes.

"I will tell you nothing!" the prisoner said and promptly turned his back.

"Kesese! I knew you would say that!" Gilbert yelled. "I was prepared for that. And I'm glad! Do you know why?"

The prisoner refused to answer.

"Do you know why?"

No answer.

"I'm going to tell you anyway…"

He was interrupted by a knock on the door.

The idiot guards opened it and peered in fearfully. The screams had not started yet, but they were expecting them…

"Sir?"

"What? What do you want?" Gilbert yelled at them.

"There's a disturbance down in the village."

"So? Do I look like I care?"

"Well no… but they're saying…"

"Who? Who is saying?" Gilbert asked, incomprehensibly.

"They're saying there is an elite assassin down in the village. Someone who has been…" here the guards gulped, "… killing soldiers in the most horrifying ways and…"

"Do I look like a policeman?"

The guards actually looked him up and down, "Not really."

One of them actually said, "You look like a pantomime villain."

"Get out of here!" Gilbert shouted.

"But somebody in the canteen said…"

"Wait! What? We have a canteen?" Gilbert asked, amazed.

"Yes! Gunther in the canteen said…"

"You mean Gunther who swears there is a Russian around every corner?" Gilbert asked, sceptically.

"There might be!" one of the guards said.

His brother guard hit him around the head, "Shut up! There isn't!"

"Well?" Gilbert asked.

"Well… no, not that Gunther, we mean the Gunther who was in love with that barmaid down at the tavern…"

"What?" Gilbert looked appalled.

"I know… we told him we thought that barmaid was really a man!"

"There is no way that barmaid is a man! Don't be so stupid," Gilbert said confidently. "I myself have…" here Gilbert hesitated and then said, "Tell him to stay away from that barmaid!"

"Oh okay… why?"

"Shut up. What did Gunther say?"

"He said that this assassin isn't really an assassin it's an evil demon and it will kill us all!" the smaller guard said quickly.

"Idiot." Prussia said simply.

"No he didn't!" the other guard said and hit the smaller guard on the head with a clunk. "It was you who said that! He said that he thinks there is a rescue party come for the prisoner!" the larger guard said.

Gilbert shook his head, "This Castle Farting is the most secure place in all of the Third Reich. Nothing can get in or out unless I say so… or my bruder. So get back to your knitting."

He shut the door on their arguing and turned back to his prisoner, rubbing his hands. He couldn't wait to get to the torture. It was his favourite part.

"Is my humiliation not enough that I have to be guarded by those two fools?" the prisoner moaned.

"Saxony and Silesia are good lads. They're just…"

"They have the combined IQ of room temperature!" the prisoner said.

"Shut up!"

"Oh I see! That's how it is, is it? I'm not allowed an opinion? Well, I will tell you this. I will be putting in a complaint. The facilities here are not in compliance with the Geneva Convention for Prisoners of War."

"I've told you before you're not getting any napkins! What do you think this is? The Ritz?"

"It's disgraceful!" the prisoner retorted and crossed their arms.

Gilbert resisted the urge to get into another three hour argument with the prisoner which had raged yesterday and had ended when he'd slammed out into the corridor and had to spend the rest of the day lying down in a dark room with a flannel over his eyes (or one eye as he kept his monocle on).

He opened his briefcase and began to take out the implements of his particular brand of torture.

"You vill talk," he mumbled, keeping his accent (he liked it). "Oh ja."

The prisoner eyed the tools that emerged from the bag with trepidation. "You can't do this…"

"Ja. I can. And I vill…" Gilbert muttered. He had pulled on an iron glove with sharpened steel-tipped knives on the ends of the fingers. He approached the prisoner.

"Noooo! Please! Don't…" the prisoner cringed back, horrified.

"Tell me what you have told the Allies about what we have told you…"

"What?" the prisoner sat up.

Gilbert paused and thought it over in his head. It sounded sensible in his head, but now he wasn't sure. He rephrased it, "Tell me everything you know!"

"Everything?"

"Everything!" Gilbert insisted.

"No, I will not!" the prisoner said with sudden courage and braced themselves to whatever horrific torture the Prussian had devised.

Prussia scraped the steel knives down the stone walls creating a terrible screech.

The prisoner covered their ears. "Noooo!" they screamed. "Nooo!"

"Tell me!"

"You're a monster!" the prisoner gasped.

Gilbert nodded. He loved his job.

Down in the village…

"So, how do we get up to the Castle?" England asked France, who, England was dismayed to find, had no intention whatsoever of changing out of his barmaid disguise.

France, put his hands on his hips, "You didn't say the special word, mon amore!"

England growled.

America stuck his hand up in the air, "Oh I know, I know!"

"No, Alfred, don't humour him."

"Him? Artie dude… are you going to buy her dinner? Cos I don't think we have time for that. If you've forgotten, dude, we have a princess to rescue."

Russia also stuck his hand up. "Excuse me?"

"What, Russia?" England asked wearily.

"We could go up by the cable car," Russia said and pointed at the said cable car.

America looked at the Russian but shook his head, "We could! But that would be too easy and not as much fun as…" here Alfred pulled out some rope, "…climbing up!"

Arthur snatched the rope from him. "Idiot! It's at least 2000 feet up!"

America didn't see what the problem was, "Well, that's okay isn't it?"

"I don't know. Can you fly?" England asked, impatiently.

"We could go by the cable car," Russia repeated, now looking annoyed.

"Are you invisible?" Arthur asked him.

Russia considered this and looked down at his coat. He didn't think he was. Although it had been ridiculously easy to grab those Germans before they'd even had chance to scream.

France was contemplating his visage in a compact mirror and re-applying his lipstick, "I know a back entrance we can use," he said matter-of-factly.

"Don't be disgusting, Francis," England said.

Francis put his compact away in his handbag and smiled a red lipsticked smile, "I know a secret entrance through ze mountain which will take us right to the back of ze castle. I can get you in. Isn't zat what I am here for? Or am I here just for my looks…" Francis looked at each of them.

England looked as if someone had placed a turd under his nose. "Well I suppose…" Of all the bloody agents to get them in the castle…

Russia nodded, "Is there a cafe or somewhere I can get sandwiches?" he asked.

"Do I get to abseil up the mountain?" Alfred asked, waving his machine gun around.

"You don't abseil _up_ something. You abseil down and put that damned gun down before you shoot me in the bloody leg, " Arthur told him.

"You will not need ropes, and no, you will not need your weapons yet," Francis told them as he tottered off in his stilettoes. (England noted that the Frenchman was not as proficient in high heels as Poland.)

"Follow me!" Francis called over his shoulder.

"I got a bad feeling about this," America murmured to England.

England nodded. So did he.

And they were right to have a bad feeling…

 **Author's Notes:**

 **I'm trying to keep the prisoner's identity a secret until the big reveal later… but I'm sure a lot of you have already guessed…**

 **What do people think of Saxony and Silesia? I thought I'd add them as incompetent guards.**

 **More incompetent guards coming up…**


	4. Tea and Tribulations

**Thank you for those who have reviewed, followed and favourited this story: Mely-Val, Kate Marley, Silent Searcher, Just a stereotype, Alternative Dragons, Cu-cu for cocopops, ShrapnelGirl, Irish Maid, MysteriousKatlover, Irish Maid, Kadek-is-the-best, Quity190, nekohime15, ApplePajama, 4368howard, Pastaaddict, dankdoitsu, Northbluesonder & Pandoala for reminding me this story was languishing on my profile and needed to be written..**

 **Where Idiots Dare**

 **Chapter 4 - Tea and Tribulations**

"The world is grown so bad, that wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch," Arthur said gloomily as they stood at the foot of the mountain, looking up.

"What? I don't see no eagles? Nor wrens. This isn't a time for birdwatching, Artie," Alfred said.

"It's from Richard the Third," England said wearily. He really wished he'd insisted on Alfred doing a little Shakespeare while he'd been at school.

"Third of what?" Alfred asked.

"England!" England said.

"That is a big mountain," Russia said simply, craning his head back to look up.

"Yes, this is Mount Untergang," France told them.

"What are you? A tour guide?" England asked.

"It means doom," France said and casually put on a bright pink beret that had been in his handbag.

"Well isn't that just great! You mean this is Mount Doom?" England asked.

"I don't like the sound of that, Artie," Alfred said.

"Neither do I, Alfred dear boy."

"I quite like it," Russia said. "Do they have a souvenir stand?"

"What?" England stared at him.

"Well, if France is a tour guide…"

England shook his head. He would have called Russia 'an idiot' but as Russia was a lot bigger than him…

Russia hoisted his backpack up and adjusted his gun onto his back and set off towards the cable car entrance.

France pulled him back, "Non, mon Russie. We are going through the back entrance…."

Russia pulled away from him, "Don't touch me, Francis. I'm not like Mr England…"

"Hey!"

"… Ze guards know me very well ah oui... I mean young Gunther and big Hans - ah how cute zay are! But zay would let me in and go up to ze Castle Farting…" (Alfred sniggered at this) "…But you three…" here Francis looked each of them up and down as if they'd just stumbled into Paris Fashion Week with bin bags on, "… I do not zink so."

"And so what do you suggest my little pervy friend?" England asked, his hands on his hips.

"We go through ze secret entrance. I told you! Zere is a back entrance, I have used it before."

"I see…" Arthur said, but he didn't. He frowned.

"Zere is a tunnel zat goes through ze mountain and climbs up to ze top so that you come out right next to ze Castle Farting," France explained.

"So let me get this right," Alfred butted in. "We go through this tunnel and come up the other side of this Mount Doom place and arrive at this Castle Farting?" he asked.

France thought it over and then nodded.

"Are you sure about this, Francy-pants?" England asked.

"You do not trust moi, Angleterre? I am ze Colonel in ze French Resistance! I have been infiltrating ze garrison here for some months…"

"Colonel!?" England almost fell over in shock. "You outrank me!" He was utterly appalled. He hadn't been this appalled since Richard I had been seduced by the French King… "You've been infiltrating this garrison have you? Have you really? Is that where you've been?" England asked. "Is that why you've not been attending meetings? I thought you were just drunk!"

"Where do you zink ze intelligence from ze Agent XXX has been coming from?" France asked, equally appalled.

"Hmmm… from Agent XXX, I thought… Aren't they supposed to be our top agent within the German Reich? Don't tell me it's you?" England looked confused.

"You mean she is the princess?" Alfred whispered to England.

England glared at him. Really? Did Alfred seriously not realise that this barmaid was actually a 1500 year old washed-up Nation with questionable sexual norms and a drink problem?

"Well, non. Zat was not me. I am not ze Agent XXX…" France said slowly.

"So what the bloody hell have you been doing?" England asked.

France looked sheepish, "I have been getting information from ze Germans by subterfuge. Eet is amazing what people will say in their sleep…"

England covered America's ears hurriedly.

"…But I have also been ze go-between for your secret service and ze Agent XXX."

"So you know their identity?" England asked. He was still wondering who the hell it was.

"Non! Ze messages for your secret service were coded onto tiny leetle scraps of paper and left out on a ledge for Pierre who ate zem."

England waited and then realised what was coming and cringed.

"And of course zen I waited for nature to take its course. And zen I radioed zem to the network in Paris and zen on to your people in London!"

"Who's Pierre?" Alfred asked.

England was also wondering this. "Poor bloke! Waiting around for this agent to give him a scrap of paper which he has to eat only to regurgitate it or…"

France shook his head, laughing, "The other end, mon ami!"

"Oh that's nasty!" Alfred muttered.

"Pierre is not a man!" France said. Here he whistled and a small white bird, no bigger than a canary flew up and sat on the Frenchman's head. "He is very brave! He has braved cats and dogs and bullets. I will recommend he is decorated after ze war is over."

"Bullets? Who the bloody hell would shoot at a bird?" England asked.

"Ze Germans… Zay are very weird," France said. "You don't want to know about Germany and his underpants, oh non…" France added, looking strangely sad.

Whilst all this was going on, Russia was stood looking very impatient, "I think we should get going. I need to be home soon or my sestras will worry. I'm also hungry…"

"I agree with Russkie dude. We should get the heck on with this mission and stop this chit-chat!" America announced. "As the hero, I should lead the way."

"You don't even know the way!" England told him.

"No I don't but I'm the hero and I should be in the lead!" America said confidently.

"Eet eez a dark tunnel where many dark things live…" France said mysteriously and actually quite nonsensically, England thought. France stepped in front and led the way.

There was a concealed opening (France had to shove aside a bush which made England suspicious as to how he'd found it) which led to a tunnel less than four feet in height.

"What the hell?" England muttered.

"I know… you will see… zere is a large cave beyond. But we must step quickly and quietly through ze mountain," France told them, disappearing into the gloom.

England sighed and followed him. America followed England. Russia took up the rear doubled up with his back scraping the ceiling.

They weren't far in before the tunnel did indeed lengthen out and suddenly they were in an immense cave. Pitch darkness enveloped them.

England felt a sense of dread. This was no wholly due to Russia stood behind them.

"I don't like this at all…" England muttered.

America struck a match and lit a cigarette.

Russia took out a torch and switched it on.

England cursed. He was looking in his backpack but found although he'd packed his teabags and his scones, there was no torch. "Damn and blast," he muttered.

"What is wrong, mon ami?" France whispered to him.

"Yeah? What's up Artie dude? Did yer forget your knitting?" America yelled.

"I remembered mine!" Russia announced.

"I forgot my torch," England said through gritted teeth.

"It does not matter. We should all switch off our torches…" (Russia growled but switched it off anyway and told them - eerily - that he was Russian and could see in the dark anyway) "… and make the least amount of noise as possible," France told them.

"WHY?" America yelled.

The boy really had no volume control whatsoever England noted.

"Actually, yes, why? The Germans can't possibly hear us in here. I'm assuming they don't know about this tunnel?" England pointed out.

"Zay do not. There are dark and terrible zings zat live in ze dark, deep places of ze world, mon ami. Zis is an old mountain…"

England shook his head, "What utter tosh you speak. Of course it's bloody old. It's a bloody mountain."

"Quiet! Zere are much older and fouler zings zat live in zis world than Germans, my old friend."

"What utter balderdash!" England said and strode on.

America followed him, saying over his shoulder at France, "Yeah!"

Russia shook his head. He turned to France, "I know what you mean. I have met some of these things you speak of."

"You have?" France looked up from taking off his stiletto heels (his feet were killing him).

"Da. Have you met my little sestra?" Russia said and shuddered.

* * *

In the castle…

The dreadful screams of agony and torment echoed around the ancient stones.

Silesia and Saxony covered their ears. They really wished they hadn't put themselves forward for guard duty. They were both cold and bored and now terrified. They had always been slightly nervous of Prussia anyway, both believing the Prussian's own advertising how 'awesome' he was.

Silesia, although supposedly the brains between them, really regretted being taken from Austria all those years earlier and even before that, taken from Poland. Being part of the 'great and awesome Prussian empire' had been exhausting for someone who just liked to drink and now he wasn't exactly sure if he particularly actually liked Germany at all. But he was too nervous to say anything to the contrary.

Saxony on the other had never been the brightest bulb in the pack and had told everyone over the centuries that he was England's dad which was the most blatant lie since America told England that he liked his cooking. He was also still seething over the fact that he was no longer a kingdom and his drinking had gotten worse since the Thirty Years War.

Now, both Germanic sub-states were glancing nervously at each other as the yelling and screaming seemed to reach a crescendo.

"Now that ain't right, bruder," Saxon said to Silesia. Silesia wasn't his brother as such, but as they'd kind of ganged up together - both being so incompetent neither were allowed on the front line anywhere, they called each other 'brother'.

"I wonder what Gilbert's doing?" Silesia whispered.

Saxony shook his head, "I don't know…"

Inside the cell…

"I won't tell you anything!" the prisoner gasped after the latest round of torture.

Gilbert nodded. He was loving this. He put down the water pistol. He'd got fed up of firing that into his mouth and then snorting it out of his nose.

His prisoner had been disgusted. Which was precisely the reaction Gilbert was looking for. But obviously not disgusted enough as there was still no answers to Gilbert's questions.

Gilbert decided to do something much more drastic. He could see his prisoner was close to breaking (indeed his prisoner was drenched in water) and so Gilbert began to pull on a pair a surgical gloves. After all he wasn't an animal…

"What are you doing? You're not normal…" the prisoner burbled, panicking.

Gilbert smiled demonically. He took his own eyelid between thumb and forefinger and pulled outwards…

"Noooo! Stop it! It's disgusting!"

Gilbert grinned as he turned his eyelid inside out and then did the same with his other eye. He loved this. His brother often told him he was a 'moron' for doing it and that he 'needed to grow up'. But he'd found that doing this grossed people out and made them squirm. It certainly made his prisoner squirm.

"Nooo!"

Outside, the guards shuddered. "I don't know how much more of this I can take…" Silesia muttered.

Saxony nodded.

"I won't tell you! I won't…!" the prisoner told Gilbert, wincing away from the Prussian as he leaned in to show his eyes in all their cringe-worthy glory.

Gilbert sighed, "Damn you!" he yelled dramatically and restored his eyes so that he could now see properly. He replaced his monocle and thought hard…

* * *

About 2000 feet below him...

England, America, France and Russia trudged through a tunnel as dark as Prussia's heart.

"Are we there yet?" America whined.

Nobody answered him.

"I'm hungry," Russia said ominously.

Nobody answered him either.

"I say, Francis. Could we possibly stop just so I can make a brew?" England asked.

France stopped in his tracks. "You are all whining ninnies! We are in deep danger here. Zere are horrid zings deep in zese mountains, but no… you…" here he pointed at England, "Want to make a 'brew'!" he said the word 'brew' with a distasteful look on his handsome face.

England ignored him and began to make a fire, "Just a quick cuppa. I'm parched," he said.

"It is a good idea," Russia told him, "Do you have any custard cream biscuits?"

America stood beside them in the gloom, lit a cigarette and began whistling loudly.

"Can you all be quiet?" France asked. "You should all shush!"

England and Russia ignored him as they searched through England's pack for biscuits. (Russia looked distinctly horrified at the sight of the scones.)

America wandered off with a torch, "Hey guys!" he called.

France held his head in his hands dramatically.

"Hey! Have you seen this here hole?" he called again. When nobody answered. He shrugged and shone his torch down the hole at his feet.

The hole was approximately a foot across and America was surprised nobody had fallen down it. Apart from Russia of course. Russia, America decided, was way too fat to fall down it. "I wonder how deep it is?" he mused to himself.

"Alfred!"

America jerked his head up. "What?"

"It's not 'what'? It's pardon! And come away, don't wander off by yourself!" England told him.

America shone his torch down the hole one last time and shrugged. He turned to lope back to his allies, and flicked his still-lit cigarette down the hole as he went.

"We should be moving on now," France was telling them as America wandered back. "We do not want to hang around here much longer…"

"Oh, honestly France. You're such a bloody coward," England said with a snort.

Russia nodded and took a big gulp of tea.

America grinned at them, "Hey dudes! I found the most ace hole over there!"

"You found an asshole over there? Alfred! Language!" England crossed his arms and looked disappointed. "I thought better of you!"

Then there came a horrid groan from the direction of Alfred's 'hole'.

"What was that?" Russia asked.

"Dunno, but it came from the hole!" Alfred answered. He looked pleased.

And then he wasn't.

A glow began to appear around the 'hole'. A very red glow. It gave the appearance of fire burning very deep below them.

"I don't like the look of that, chaps," England muttered and began to put out the fire and pack away his kettle and teabags.

"I told you!" France said, despairingly.

"Told us what? You told us nothing!" England exclaimed.

He was about to say something else when there was another long drawn out groan. Louder this time. It sounded as if there were some immense tortured animal deep in the bowels of the mountain.

"What in the name of Nelson?" England said, his eyes wide as shadows of horned beasts filled the tunnel behind them. A stench of stale beer and, weirdly, hair products wafted through.

"Run!" France told them. "Now!" he added as if they needed telling twice.

"What is it, Francis? What are running from?" England took hold of the Frenchman's silky blouse.

"It's the Denrog!"

 **Author's Notes: Apologies to both Shakespeare and Tolkien…**


	5. Scones and Strife

**Thank you for those who have reviewed, followed and favourited this story: 4368Howard, Kate Marley, Pastaaddict, Silent Searcher, Mely Val, Magicflyingmintbunnies, Just a stereotype, Alternative Dragons, Cu-cu for cocopops, ShrapnelGirl, MysteriousKatlover, Irish Maid, Kadek-is-the-best, Quity190, nekohime15, ApplePajama & Pandoala.**

 **Where Idiots Dare**

 **Chapter 5 - Scones and Strife**

"There is no such thing as a 'Denrog'," England said with a lot of certainty that he didn't feel in the least.

He, France, America and Russia were now running along the tunnel. Despite England not having heard of 'such a thing', he was grateful when he saw daylight.

France shrugged.

"I've never heard of such a thing," England repeated.

"Beer!" came a horrid yell behind them.

A red glow now filled the tunnel and shadows leapt and danced around them. Horrid shadows that told of a horned beast bearing an axe and great hair.

"The cry of the Denrog!" France said dramatically. "Few have heard it!"

"I've heard it!" America said, running alongside them.

"So have I and so has Mr Pipe," Russia said simply. He was eating a biscuit as he ran.

"Well, okay apart from you two…" France said and had to stop as his false boobs were bouncing up and down. He'd already taken off his stiletto heels so they didn't impede him. "It is the cry of a wild Denrog. Starved of beer for so long. It has gone feral," he explained.

"Beer!" the cry was closer now, as was the smell of hairspray.

England stopped abruptly. "How scary can this be?" he asked. "We are grown Nations running from a washed-up…"

"Beer!" The sound was like nothing England had heard before. It was beyond the cries of despair England had heard on battlefields and football terraces.

"It thinks we have beer," France confided.

England rolled his eyes, "No? Really?"

"Well it sounds unnatural to me," America said.

"It sounds like a demon from the very pits of hell," Russia agreed. "And I should know, I have met quite a few."

"I will hold it off. You lot go ahead, chaps," England urged.

"But, dude…" America gulped.

"We will all stay together and die together like good Russians!" Russia cried, brandishing his bathroom plumbing.

"Au revoir, mon ami!" France turned to go.

America pulled the Frenchman back, "All for one and one for all!" he yelled - for once getting it right.

England turned to them, "Seriously men. You all need to go. France is the only one who can get into the castle and knows his way around… America, if you don't return, well… I don't think your President will forgive my secret service chappies. And you, Russia… well, I think those two numbskulls need you…"

"Dude Artie!" America half-sobbed.

"Oh mon ami… you are so brave…"

Russia nodded and saluted him.

"Now run you fools!" England cried, as another call of 'Beer' shook the tunnel.

He dug around in his backpack. He'd decided that this 'Denrog' was going to take more than a few sarcastic putdowns and swearwords to put it off.

"Scones!" Arthur cried triumphantly.

The calls of 'beer' halted and there was a loud groan of utter despondence.

"You shall not pass!" England declared.

A fiery shadow filled the tunnel. Ten foot tall with horns that scraped the ceiling. It hesitated. Evidently it had not had human contact in a long time.

"Beer?" the shadow asked tentatively.

"There is no beer here!" England said peering at the shadow. Was that a rubber axe in its hand?

"No beer?" the Denrog asked sadly as if to itself. It sounded as if it were going to cry.

"No beer," England said firmly. He felt almost sorry for the poor thing. He began to back away slowly.

The Denrog seemed to suddenly brace itself and then charged at the Englishman. It thundered through the tunnel, flames licking around it. "Beer!" the Denrog roared as it charged.

England didn't have his wand and so instead he held up a scone, "You. Shall. Not. Pass!" he yelled in his best wizard voice.

The Denrog halted in its tracks. "Noooo!" it wailed.

"I, as a baker of the Order of the Eternal Victoria Sponge, send you back from whence you came!"

"Bar?" the Denrog said in a gutteral coarse voice.

One whose mother language was not English, England reminded himself or he would have corrected the creature's grammar and diction.

"No! You will return to the deep depths!" England began to say and then paused. 'Deep depths'? Surely as the personification of a Nation that had produced Wordsworth and Shakespeare he could come up with something better?

Before he could open his mouth to say something, America yelled from down at the end of the tunnel, "Dude Artie? What are you doing? Have you dropped a stitch or something? We're waiting!"

The Denrog must have heard him for it bellowed, "Beer!" down the tunnel with such force that Arthur almost fell over.

The Denrog took a step forward.

Arthur knew then what he must do. He threw his scone.

* * *

In the castle…

Prussia gibbered and capered in front of his captive.

Turning his eyelids inside out, eating a biscuit with his mouth wide open, drinking a whole pint of beer in one go and then burping in the prisoner's face had achieved precisely nothing. Only a look of utter disgust.

Finally, he sat on the bench next to the captive and proceeded to burble in the prisoner's ear, a cacophony of ridiculous sounds, followed by a repetition of mindless questions.

"Blurble blurble blurble… do you like that? Do you? Do you? Do you?" Prussia repeated this over and over making raspberries as he did so. He knew it was sheer psychological torture.

It was only a matter time before the prisoner snapped. After all, Prussia had not been named 'Most Annoying Nation of All Time' for nothing.

"Stop it! Stop it! In the name of sanity! I'll tell you everything that I know!"

"Everything?" Prussia stepped back, wiping the spittle from his chin and swapping his monocle from one eye to the other.

"Yes, I suppose…"

Prussia raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, just no more of your idiocy!"

"Swear to it," Prussia said. "Swear to it, you traitorous…"

"I swear…" the prisoner snapped.

"Pinkie swear!" Prussia insisted.

The prisoner's eyes widened. "Pinkie swear? But…"

Prussia interrupted, "Pinkie swear," he insisted, held out his hand, his little finger extended.

"Well, I suppose… but pinkie swear. I had no idea that it would be so serious…" the prisoner extended their own hand and they shook 'pinkie' fingers.

"Now tell me everything," Prussia insisted.

"Everything?" the prisoner looked confused.

"Ja!"

"Well I was born on a Tuesday… no wait… I was born on a Wednesday…"

"Nein!" Prussia yelled in the prisoner's face.

"You don't know! I could have been!"

"I mean tell me what information you have given the Allies."

"I told them about Germany's underpants," the prisoner said. "I said that they were disgraceful."

"How did you get the information to them?

"I won't name names," the prisoner said definitely. "And I'm telling you no more until you bring me some decent food…"

"What do you think this is, room service?" Prussia asked, appalled.

"Well, to be honest. Up to now, I'm not overly impressed. I asked for a pot of tea about two hours ago from your idiotic guards but they either forgot or…"

"They were ordered to just bring you bread and water," Prussia pointed out.

"Well that's not very good. When I leave a review for this place on TripAdvisor, it will not be very good."

Prussia tried to say something, but for once he was speechless.

"When the Duke of Farting used to live here he was famed for his hospitality."

"Well I am not the Duke of Farting!" Prussia said and then added, "But I wish I were… what an awesome name!" he stopped and thought about this for a minute and then said, "I'll bring you tea and some food if…"

He was interrupted. "…And some smoked salmon sandwiches…" the prisoner said.

"…Smoked salmon?" Prussia spluttered.

"…On decent fresh bread, please. Cut into triangles…"

"…Triangles? Are you kidding me?"

"…You're right. I suppose that would be too much for your idiot chef, whoever that is!"

"Chef? This is an army garrison. We don't have bloody chefs!"

"Evidently! And I would like china cups as well. Not that awful enamel tankard the water came in. And the water was freezing cold. I only drink water at room temperature. It's bad for my digestion otherwise."

"Bad for your…" Prussia trailed off. "I can't believe this…"

"I know! I did tell them. But Saxony just sneered at me. Uncouth lout."

"Nein! This is not a hotel! You do not make demands!" Prussia shouted.

The prisoner turned their back on him.

Prussia banged on the door of the cell until 'the idiotic guards' unlocked it and let him out. He called back as he did so, "Will tinned salmon sandwiches be okay?"

The prisoner hesitated and then nodded, "But with cucumber!"

"I hate you…" Prussia mumbled.

* * *

Down in the tunnel…

The Denrog uttered a yell of pure pain and anguish, "Nooo!" it yelled. "Not fair!"

England ran towards the light and his allies.

"Did yer kill it? I mean man, that was brutal," America asked him as he caught up with them, gasping for breath.

"How many of those scones do you have left?" France asked, with some trepidation.

"Enough," England answered.

They climbed up into the light and onto a stony outcrop. Above them the castle wall loomed 20 feet high.

"I thought this took us straight to the back entrance?" England asked France.

France shrugged. He was still worrying about the idea of England carrying extra scones. "Did I say that?"

"Yes you bloody did!"

"Hell yeah! I get to use climbing gear!" America yelled, looking up with delight. He began to rummage in his backpack as the others looked on. "I got my rope and my tampons."

"Weird…" Russia muttered, watching him with fascination. He looked at England for explanation.

England was looking back at the tunnel. There was a horrid red glow emanating from it. He wasn't sure how long his scone would hold off the Denrog. "Do you think it will come after us?" England asked France.

"The Denrog?"

"Well I'm not talking about the Avon Lady am I?" England asked, exasperated.

"It abhors the light, my uptight friend" France explained reassuringly.

"I'm not sure, I think we should get up and over this wall…" England said.

Russia nodded, he clutched his pipe and stood at the entrance to the tunnel, "You get over the wall and I will hold it off."

"But you don't have any baking with you!" England said, dramatically.

America had thrown his rope with grappling hook over the wall. He jumped up and down to make sure the rope held and with agility that reminded England of an overgrown baboon, scuttled up.

"Bloody show-off," England muttered.

America grinned down at him and threw the rope back down, "Come on Artie, I'll pull you up."

"It's Sir. You should call me Sir," England replied and took hold of the rope. He hated rope-climbing. He had flashbacks of PE lessons when he was just a small Nation and being teased by his older brother, Scotland. "Did you ever get teased at school?" he asked Russia as he began to haul himself up the rope.

Russia took a sweet out of his pipe and chewed thoughtfully, "I was for a little bit. They teased me about my short trousers."

"That's awful," England grunted as he climbed a bit more. "We all wore short trousers at my school."

Russia nodded, "Then I hit them with my pipe and they didn't tease me after that and then the Golden Horde arrived and nobody did any teasing at all."

England wished he hadn't asked.

"Come on, old man England! Get a move on! The war will be over by the time you get up here!" America called.

England swore to himself and pulled himself up a few more inches.

He then suddenly found himself hauled up by an impatient America. "What were you doing down there? Doing your embroidery?" America asked.

"There's no need to be rude! I'm older than you!" England puffed, suddenly finding himself on top of a wall which had a 20 foot drop down which he'd just climbed and six feet down the other side to some sort of courtyard.

"I know that, man! You're like what? 2000 years old?" America asked, grinning.

"I'm not that old!" England yelled back and then added, hurriedly, "Keep your voice down. The guards will hear us." He looked around. He couldn't actually see any guards.

Below them, Russia called up, "Are you going to send the rope back down?"

America harumphed, "I'm not pulling him up. I bet he weighs a ton," he lowered his voice to a whisper.

"I'm not fat, I'm big-boned," Russia called up.

"Once he's up we have to get France up here as well," England said, crouching next to America. He was expecting a bullet any minute. "I feel exposed up here," he said.

"Ah oui, my leetle Angleterre, we all feel exposed," came a French accent behind him.

England almost fell off in fright.

France stood just below them in the courtyard, leaning against the wall, filing his nails (which were painted red).

"What the bloody hell? How did you get there?"

"I came through the back entrance," France said nonchalantly.

"I thought you said… Oh never bloody mind."

France smiled creepily and showed England his manicured nails. England shuddered.

* * *

Inside the castle...

Prussia skidded down the corridors. He could skid better wearing just his socks but that would look just too silly. There were too many people around.

He asked a few times where the canteen was and was still none the wiser.

But finally, he found it. There was a queue. He attempted to bluster his way to the front, after all he was a senior officer wasn't he? But was thwarted by 'Big Hans'.

"Get in line!" 'Big Hans' told him.

"I outrank you!" Gilbert shouted, his hands on his hips.

"I've just come off a 12 hour shift and what have you been doing? Pissing around with that idiot prisoner?" 'Big Hans' retorted. As his name suggested he was very big - well over six foot tall. Gilbert suspected there was some Dane or Swede in him somewhere, or even Russian. Big blond and Nordic-looking. He was rumoured to be wooing the barmaid down at the village tavern. But then so were half the garrison.

"I'm in charge while my bruder is away on important business!" Gilbert retorted.

"Where is he then, picking and pressing wildflowers?" Big Hans asked, laughing.

Gilbert sneered, "My bruder is too manly to go picking wildflowers!" he retorted, scanning the menu for 'salmon sandwiches' and ignoring the sniggers around him.

* * *

In the next valley, Germany hitched his backpack on and prepared to leave. He'd been ordered by his superiors to take his first day of leave in five years and had spent it doing something he absolutely knew his brother and all the men at the garrison would laugh at. A hobby he'd kept secret all his life. He smiled grimly. But at least he felt a little better. His eye-twitch had nearly gone and he no longer felt the need to yell at someone. Surely, just one day off would not have lost the war as he'd feared? He'd just been silly. He strode off to catch the last train back to Farting…

**To be continued ***

Apologies to Tolkien...


	6. Queues and Queens

**Thank you for those who have reviewed, followed and favourited this story: fanfictionfanatic 42, 4368Howard, Kate Marley, Pastaaddict, Silent Searcher, Mely Val, Magicflyingmintbunnies, Just a stereotype, Alternative Dragons, Cu-cu for cocopops, ShrapnelGirl, MysteriousKatlover, Irish Maid, Kadek-is-the-best, Quity190, nekohime15, ApplePajama & Pandoala.**

Where Idiots Dare

Chapter 6 - Queues and Queens

"Peter Pan to Braveheart, come in, Braveheart.." England hunched over the radio and attempted to tell his 'blasted idiot drunken brother' that they'd got into the castle.

England, France and America were stood in a shed, for want of a better word. And what was worse, in England's eyes, was that it was a German shed and not an English shed. There were no plant pots, lawnmowers, wheelbarrows, nor were there any compost bags. England surveyed it, severely disappointed. His own garden shed had a kettle (of course), a deckchair and a small transistor radio. It was his hideaway for when any of his colonies, brothers or America came visiting.

"Bloody foreigners," the British Nation muttered, even though technically his brother wasn't a 'foreigner', in England's eyes he was - especially when Hamish lapsed into Gaelic, which England assumed was a made-up language just to irritate him.

There was no answer on the radio. England assumed that his brother just was not answering or the reception was rubbish.

"Do we all have our walkie-talkies?" he asked the two Nations stood in front of him.

"Yessir!" America saluted and held his up.

"Oui," France answered looking bored.

"Remember, you're Prince Charming," Arthur said to Alfred.

"Because I'm the hero!" America yelled.

"And you're the Frog Prince," England said to France.

"Mon dieu!" France looked appalled.

"Wait. Where's Russia?" England asked.

* * *

Russia stalked two German sentries up some stony steps inside the Castle Farting. Silently he grabbed one by the neck and then the other and smashed their heads together and pulled their dead bodies to one side. His shadow, large and monstrous loomed behind him.

Bored with their 'messing around' and getting on with the 'plan' as he saw it, he was determined to get to the 'princess' before America.

But first he needed food. He'd eaten all his packed lunch and half of England's biscuits. He was now lurking through the castle looking for the kitchen.

The Castle Farting was not exactly a prepossessing place but Russia's aura of dread had not really made it any better. Several guards shivered at their posts and the ghosts in the dungeons fled screaming…

But Russia was oblivious to this, his shadow loomed above and beyond him, its dark and cold dread heralding his approach making German soldiers scuttle away, trembling so that Russia was a little surprised that the Castle seemed empty.

"Must be teabreak," he muttered to himself. He lifted his head and sniffed the air like a wolf and then headed down towards the smell of food…

* * *

Outside in the courtyard…

England found himself on his own. He'd sent a sulking France (who did not like his codename - which was not 'fantastique') and America off to blow up the ammunition dump at the far side of the courtyard. There was no sound, nothing. He sighed.

"Peter Pan to Prince Charming, come in Charming," England said quietly into his walkie-talkie.

"Dude, I don't know what you mean," was the overly-loud answer. Arthur winced, holding the device at arm's length. "Do you want me to be charming?"

"What? No!" England yelled back, then clamped his hand over his mouth. The Italian guards were looking around, confused.

"Did you just hear something, fratello?" One said to the other. He sounded dazed, as if he'd just woken up or was about to go to sleep.

The other slapped him upside the head. "We're supposed to be quiet, fratello!" He shouted.

"How you doin'?" America said over the walkie-talkie and Arthur shook his head.

"It's "doing", not "doin'", and I'm quite alright thank you. That isn't the standard way to do a status check but I suppose I'll allow it."

"Cool," Alfred drawled. "So, wanna go grab some dinner later? My schedule's pretty empty, only one suicide mission… nothing the hero can't handle!"

"What?! No, I will not "grab" dinner with you "later", we need to finish this mission!" Arthur shouted. "If you're hungry you'll just have to bloody well wait."

"Hey, whenever you're free, darlin'. Just let me know!" Alfred answered, and Arthur could practically hear him winking as he said "darlin'". Arthur finally realised what was happening, and his cheeks heated up as he shouted into the walkie-talkie again.

"Alfred, why the bloody hell are you flirting with me? If you didn't already notice, we are in the middle of a mission! An important one! We could bloody die if you don't focus, you complete and utter-"

"Dude, no need to shout," Alfred'v came through, sounding slightly upset. "Anyway, I thought you told me to hit on you. Man, I was following orders!" He seemed proud about this.

Arthur sighed. "Why, on earth, would I tell you to "hit on" me? You were under my care for almost two hundred bloody years… and anyway, I don't date men. Well, not this century anyway."

"Nah, me either," Alfred said hurriedly. Arthur raised an eyebrow. "So anyways, what were you callin' about?"

Arthur had genuinely forgotten for a moment, what with all the stupidity, and it took him a moment to answer. "I was calling," he began, "to tell you that I am within sight of Mary and the Little Lamb."

"Dude! There's chicks here?"

"Nooo, you bloody American idiot!" This was the point where England would usually have hit America on the head with a bundle of papers or something, but since they weren't in close proximity he had to settle for yelling instead. "I mean…" he dropped his voice to a whisper "…the Italy brothers. I was wondering what you thought I should do."

"Oh, those guys? They crack me up, man!" Alfred said. "Don't kill 'em, okay? I know they're the enemy 'n all but I'm still waitin' on a bolognese recipe from my dude Feli."

"Whatever," England sighed, and decided to put an end to this ridiculous conversation. "Peter Pan out."

"Peter's got his pan out? Out where? Is that your dude son? That kid's rude man, I don't think you brought him up very well. Last time I saw him he called me a bas-" America's voice was cut off as England fiddled with the dials on his walkie-talkie. He was considering how best to sneak up on the Italians when one of them snuck up on him. It would be the first and last time that Feliciano Vargas, also known as Italy Veneziano, ever did anything subtly.

Unfortunately, he ruined it by announcing his presence. "Ciao!" The Italian said happily, his face inches away from England's ear.

"Agh!" England exclaimed, falling out of his hiding spot (a bush) in his shock. "I say, how did you know I was here?"

"You are very loud, Signore! Me and my fratello could hear you from the castle." Italy grinned. His brother Romano, standing next to him, did not. Romano scowled down at England the way he would look at a bug that had found its way into his spaghetti.

"Veneziano you damned idiot, we aren't supposed to be nice to the intruders!" Romano said, disgusted at his brother. "You're not supposed to chat to him, you're supposed to glare at him like this-" Romano furrowed his eyebrows comically "-and you're supposed to say 'you there, tea bastard, state your business'!"

"Ooh…" Italy said in wonder. "Okay, let me try!" He tried to loom over England, which didn't work as he was a good few inches shorter than him, and said in an exaggerated deep voice "You there, tea bastard… Fratello I don't like saying bad words!"

"Damn idiot, this is why I do everything in this family!" Romano said, shoving his brother out of the way. He pulled out a revolver that England doubted was real. "Tea bastard, you'd better tell me why you're here or I'll… I'll shoot you!"

"But fratello, it's not a real gun! You can't shoot him!" Italy exclaimed, waving his arms around.

"Idiot! He's not supposed to know that!" Romano clouted his brother with the fake gun. Italy fell to the ground in a groaning heap. "So, tea bastard. I'm waiting."

At this point, England could have done one of two things. He could have kicked Romano in the balls, provided he had any, and booked it into the castle with Italy still groaning on the floor. But something about the ineptitude of the brothers made him pity them… and also gave him an idea.

"I'm here to see the Pope!" England said confidently.

"The Pope?" Romano echoed, looking skeptical. From the floor, Italy squealed, grabbing at his brother's leg to pull himself up.

"I love the Pope!" Feliciano said excitedly. "He's my most favourite person in the whole world… apart from Luddy-kins of course." Italy sighed dreamily.

"So you want to see him too, do you?" Arthur asked.

"Can I?" Italy squeaked, looking at England with wide eyes. He grabbed Romano's hand, which the other Italian yanked away with an expression of disgust. "Fratello, did you hear? We're going to see the Pope!"

"Well, I can't see him," Romano said, but he too looked hopeful.

"That's because…" England stammered "…because he's in that field over there!" He pointed in a random direction, which as luck would have it did in fact have a field in it. A field that England could see full-well had no Pope in it. It wasn't as if you could miss the man; his hat was bigger than Denmark's hair.

"I don't see him," Italy said sadly.

"We need to get closer," Romano decided, apparently forgetting his distrust of the "intruder".

"Yes, yes you do!" England quickly agreed. "You fellows go on ahead and see Pope… er… Pope Dave, I'll… er… I'll wait here." He shooed the Italies away, edging ever-closer to the castle's back door as he did so.

"Thank you, random English man!" Italy said happily, waving back at him. "Do you see him yet, fratello?" He asked Romano this several times as they wandered away into the field. England shook his head as he watched them; it almost made him sad.

He made a quick call to America before picking the lock on the door. "I've successfully diverted Mary and the Little Lamb," he told Alfred.

"Good job, Artie-dude!" America shouted back. "I'll meet ya round front in five minutes. Sorry I don't have any red roses with me or anything."

"Alfred, I told you not to flirt with me." England said, exasperated.

"Oh yeah, my bad! See ya soon." America clicked his walkie-talkie to 'off'.

England sighed and switched the walkie-talkie off. The idiot boy was stood just 100 metres away with a gormless look on his face. He was tempted to hit him over the head with the device.

"Right…have you been stood there all this time?" he asked, frowning.

America nodded.

"Where's France?"

"Chatting up some guards…"

* * *

Meanwhile in the castle…

After a looooong time in the queue (Prussia thought that by the time he got to be served the war would already be over), Gilbert placed his order, "I want…" he began but was halted.

"You'll need a tray." The server looked like a 16 year old on a youth training scheme. He also looked gormless, but perhaps not as gormless as the guards Gilbert had left in charge of his prisoner.

"What for?" Gilbert asked impatiently.

"The food."

"I don't need a bloody tray!"

The teenager shrugged, "It's the rules."

Gilbert sighed. "Who said so?"

"My boss," the teenager said, and scratched his head with a serving spatula.

"Well I am your boss!" Gilbert said, drawing himself up to his full five feet six inches and re-adjusting his monocle.

"You're Herr Schmidt?" the teenager's eyes widened.

"What?"

"You're head of catering?"

"No I am not head of catering! I am Major Gilbert Beilschmidt!" Gilbert expected a shiver of recognition, a straightening of backs, a flurry of salutes. There were none.

"Well then you'll have to get a tray." The teenager said, now leaning against the tray of chips and picking one off and chewing it, now utterly bored.

"You mean if I were the Head of Catering I wouldn't need a tray?"

The teenager shook his head and then pointed to the stack of trays.

Gilbert slouched away and picked through the trays, one by one. "This is wet, this is wet, this is wet. What did you do? Dry these in a car wash? I mean really? We are at war here! We are the greatest fighting machine ever seen! We are building the next great German Empire… and possibly Prussian Empire and we can't even have dry trays?"

A large hand landed on his shoulder and a voice whispered, heavy with menace in his ear, "Get on with it…"

Gilbert spun round and faced a number of Germans who all looked back at him with barely disguised annoyance and impatience. They were all shifting from foot to foot and seething quietly.

Behind him a large figure in a beige coat and long scarf, stole forward, picked up a sandwich, gave the teenager a handful of coins and strode away.

Gilbert turned back to the servery and re-adjusted his uniform, "Well anyway, I'll have a salmon and cucumber sandwich…" Gilbert said, pointing at the board.

"You can't. I just sold the last one."

"What do you mean?"

"I. Just. Sold. The. Last. One."

"I know that."

"So why ask me?"

"I mean… argh… okay just make me one then."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I'm not allowed… the Head of Catering says…"

"Bugger the Head of Catering!" Gilbert suddenly exclaimed.

Shock reverberated around the canteen. Everyone looked at him.

Gilbert took a deep breath as the teenager stared at him.

"Just make me a cucumber sandwich," Gilbert said slowly and quietly. His posh prisoner would just have to make do.

"We don't have any cucumber."

"Yes you do! Are you insane? I can see some cheese and cucumber sandwiches right there!"

"Yes, but that's cheese and cucumber."

"Just take the cheese out."

"Can't do that."

"Why not?"

"My boss says so."

"Well I'm your boss today," Gilbert said, now leaning against the servery and picking at the chips.

"But you're not Head of Catering, you just said."

"Well okay but now I am."

"But you're not wearing a name badge!"

Behind Prussia, the queue of Germans had grown and they were now grumbling amongst themselves. Several were very red in the face. Prussia knew that, unlike the English who would queue for hours all day, albeit unhappily, Germans would not and they were getting crosser by the minute.

"Right!" Gilbert said with finality. He pointed at the teenager, "I'll sort you out!" he said. He expected the boy to faint with horror, but he didn't - he just shrugged and said something about 'not being paid enough for this shit'. So Gilbert turned and skidded back out of the canteen and headed for the locker rooms.

"I'll get a bloody name badge and I'll bloody show them!" he said to himself, passing a large monstrous shadow as he went. He shivered as if something/someone had just passed over his grave, but hurried on anyway. Nobody would beat him, the great Awesome Prussia. No-one.

Twenty minutes later, with a name badge that read 'Head of Cleaning' with the 'Cleaning' crossed out and replaced with 'Catering' in black marker pen, Prussia triumphantly stomped back towards the canteen. To find the doors closed and locked.

He pulled and kicked at the doors.

"It's closed, dude!" an American voice told him and then a hand pointed at the sign that did indeed say 'Closed'.

Prussia spun round, surely it couldn't be… no… There was no-one there. Obviously, one of his men was just messing around.

* * *

Outside…

"Some dudes just need to chillax and learn to read," America told England, loping along beside him.

"I bloody told you to go and blow those ammo dumps up!" England said.

"Okay! Sheesh, chillax, man!"

"Don't tell me to bloody chillax!" England hissed. He was about to say something else when his walkie-talkie buzzed. He answered it, "Peter Pan here!"

"Allo zis is ze Frog Prince! You should duck!"

England shook his head and nodded to America, "Francis says we should duck."

"Why?" America asked.

But England didn't get to answer when there was a huge explosion and the ammo dump blew up.

* * *

Earlier…

Francis sauntered and sashayed towards the ammunition dump. They thought he was useless did they? They thought he was just a transvestite with great legs. Well obviously he did have great legs and he just assumed the others were jealous that they didn't look as good as him in a skirt.

"Hello boys!" he purred at the guards.

"Erm… Marianne… you're not allowed up here," one of them said.

"Oh Hans… I think you're very lovely and cute…" Francis stroked 'Big Hans' under the chin. "I bet your mother tells you that, doesn't she?"

'Big Hans' nodded and choked away tears.

"I miss my mother," the other guard half-sobbed.

"I know you do…" Francis said, and pinched his bum.

"I sent her a postcard…" the guard continued.

Francis nodded, looking slightly bored and digging around for something in his handbag. He pulled out a large bottle of nail varnish remover and a small flame thrower.

"You know you should ring your mothers…" Francis told them both.

"I know but mine doesn't know that I'm just a guard." One said.

"Mine doesn't know I work in the canteen…" the other answered.

"Really? Two big boys like you? You're too important to be doing stuff like this!" Francis said, testing his flame thrower and ensuring it worked.

The two guards nodded at each other. "What do you think we should do, Marianne?"

"Why don't you two big boys go get me a latte and we'll have a chat?" 'Marianne' told them.

"But we're supposed to be guarding this ammunition!"

"Really? Well I'll tell you what, you go off and get me a latte, with extra cream and I'll guard the ammo!"

"You'd do that for us?" one of them said, wide-eyed.

"Of course!"

"I think I love her," Big Hans told the other guard as they hurried off.

France smiled after them, shaking his gorgeous blond locks. He adjusted his large false boobs, stepped elegantly over the chainlink fence and lit the flamethrower. He knew he was going to have to run quite fast and so he took off his stilleto heels. He was seriously wondering whether he should just leave them off altogether but they were leopard-print and quite chic. He shrugged. Held the flame to the bottle of varnish remover and threw it.

He grazed his knee and snagged a stocking as he flung himself out of the way.

The explosion didn't come straight away though. So he picked up his walkie-talkie, re-did his lipstick as he waited for England to answer…

* * *

"Damn Frog…" England said grudgingly.

"Frog? What?" America was just confused.

"He blew up the ammo dump…" England explained.

"Wow. Way to go, man!" America pumped his fist.

"Right, let's get out of here before those idiot Italians come back," England said, and pulled America along with him.

There was no danger of that. The Italies were stood in the field at the back of the Castle Farting looking for 'Pope Dave'.

"I think England lied," Romano told his brother.

"He wouldn't do that, would he?"

"Si."

"I wish Luddy was back."

* * *

"Frog Prince, this is Peter Pan, we are now entering the Castle Farting through the back…" here England paused as there was a hail of gunfire. Mainly from America as he began to shoot even though there was no-one to be seen.

"Will you put that bloody thing down? There's no-one there…"

America looked very disappointed as he held his gun down out of the way.

There was a sudden smell of Chanel and… smoke. France appeared behind them, "Ah I lurve ze smell of ze English… it eez so…floury…" he purred.

"Shut up! Where are all the guards?" England whispered as they tread softly through the stone corridors.

America shrugged, but looked upset, "Does this mean I don't get to kill any Nasties?"

"Nazis?"

"Are we fighting them as well?"

England ignored him, he really didn't have time to explain the politics of this war to him. He turned to France, "Which way to the dungeons, Francis?"

France pointed to a stairwell that went down as if to the pits of hell. It looked dark and murky as if unseen horrors dwelt within.

There were.

A humming approached them and a horrid aura of dread emanated from the stairwell. A dark, brooding shadow came up the steps staining the corridor with terror…

England fought the urge to scream… Francis clung to his arm, his left boob resting on England's rifle arm.

"Privet comrades! Where have you been?" Russia chirped as he emerged, eating a salmon and cucumber sandwich.

"Food! Where did yer get that?" America asked.

England punched him on the shoulder, "Shut up, we don't have time for that!"

"Oh yeah! We have to rescue a princess!" America yelled and headed down the stairwell, with Russia, side by side.

England shook his head, "Watch what you're doing… and…Russia?"

"Da?"

"Where are the guards? Have you seen any? I'm very suspicious and…" but England didn't get to say anything. He soon found where the guards were. They were everywhere. Mainly with heads missing or looking as if they had been run over by a roadroller.

"Their heads fell off," Russia said with a shrug.

France still clung to England, "Mon dieu! Zis eez terrible!" he ventured.

Silesia and Saxony were not ready for the horrors awaiting them. They were sharing a cup of tea from a flask and eating biscuits (not custard creams).

One of them looked up to see a shapely stocking-ed leg emerge from the round the corner of the corridor.

He nudged his 'brother', "Saxony… look…"

Saxony shook his head, "We're not supposed to leave our post, Silesia. If Gilbert comes back and finds us gone then we're going to be the laughing stock of the castle and he'll tell Ludwig and I really don't want to spend the rest of the war on the Eastern Front and…" but when he looked up, Silesia was gone.

He got up, picked up his rifle (unbeknownst to him it had blanks in it - much like the Italies they weren't allowed live ammunition) and peered into the darkness.

There was a tap on his left shoulder, he looked round and his keys were taken from his belt. He spun round and came face to face with England.

"So… you've been telling people I'm your son eh?" Arthur said, with his hands on his hips.

"No… well…" Saxony stammered.

"You owe me 1000 years of pocket money!" Arthur said, holding out his hand.

Whilst they were talking, France unlocked the door and Russia and America slammed through and got stuck…

"I'm the first cos I'm the hero!" America yelled.

"No, I'm the first! I do the rescuing because I'm the biggest!" Russia countered.

They were stuck shoulder to shoulder in the doorway, trying to shove each other out of the way.

"Don't worry, Your Highness! I'm here to rescue you!" America declared, panting as he finally shoved his way into the cell.

"Well, it's about time! This is absolutely ridiculous, what kind of service is this? Have you brought some tea? Oh… rescue… well this is ridiculous as well! You two! I've never seen such a shambles in my long life!" the prisoner said indignantly.

"Australia!" America said.

"Moron."

 **Author's Notes:**

 **Well done and a cookie for all those who guessed it was Austria…**


	7. Fools and Fire

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters do not belong and nor did I invent them - they are purely the imagination of Himaruya Hidekaz.**

 **Thank you for those who have reviewed, followed and favourited this story: Hetalia Banzai, Elric Gurl, Red-Hot Habanero, fanfictionfanatic 42, 4368Howard, Kate Marley, Pastaaddict, Silent Searcher, Mely Val, Magicflyingmintbunnies, Just a stereotype, Alternative Dragons, Cu-cu for cocopops, ShrapnelGirl, MysteriousKatlover, Irish Maid, Kadek-is-the-best, Quity190, nekohime15, ApplePajama & Pandoala.**

 **Where Idiots Dare**

 **Chapter 7 - Fools and Fire**

"What kind of rescue operation is this? Are they the only people you could get to help you? I am going to put in a letter of complaint…" Austria had not shut up since the cell door had been unlocked and England was starting to wish they had just left him there.

It wasn't just Austria who was complaining, America and Russia were also complaining.

"I thought we were rescuing a princess," America whispered to England, none too quietly.

"Da," Russia nodded next to him.

"Oh I see! So if I were a pretty princess you would have got here earlier eh?" Austria asked, appalled.

"Sure would!" America yelled.

England ignored them all. Silesia and Saxony had been tied up and gagged. Both looked relieved after seeing France, that that was all that had happened to them.

"Ah I lurve tying up leetle Nations," France said in a sleazy voice.

Everyone shuddered.

"Ah non, I broke a nail!" France exclaimed and swore in French.

"Come on, chaps! We need to get moving!" England told them, hurrying them down the corridor.

"I am going to get in touch with Poland as soon as I get back," France told England quietly.

"Ah good. Have you been inspired with all this espionage? Are you going to ask for advice on how to run a successful underground resistance army?"

"Non! I want the name of a good manicurist!" France replied, looking surprised.

"Jeez dudes, you guys are such girls!" America told them.

"I agree with Alfred, us guys are such girls," England said with a sigh. "Right, bye then Saxony and Silesia. No hard feelings?"

The two guards were left in Austria's cell.

"You will pay for this!" Saxony yelled after them.

"How much? I don't have any money on me!" America called back, looking seriously worried. England swiped him around the head.

"Our boss is the most feared in all of Germany! He will hunt you down and strike fear in your hearts! You have no idea who you are up against!" Saxony or Silesia (England wasn't sure which) shouted after them.

America slowed down, "Really, Artie? Are they on about Ludwig? Jeez…"

"Gilbert," Austria told them, rolling his eyes. "He tortured me."

"Gilbert…" Russia rumbled the name, a growl catching in his throat. He twisted his bloodied piece of pipe in his hands.

"It was terrible. You have no idea what I've had to go through," Austria continued to tell England.

England ignored him. He dropped down behind a corner and took out his radio and tried to get in touch with HQ. But found no signal whatsoever. "Damn and blast," he said.

"Is it not working, dude?" America asked, swinging his rifle round and catching it, marvelling at his own little tricks as he snapped it up and down, unloading it and then reloading it.

"Shut up and watch out for the enemy," England hissed.

"I wonder if it's something to do with the tea you spilled on it when we were running away from that Denrog?" America asked.

"…He made stupid noises and…" Austria continued, no doubt referring to Prussia and not the Denrog.

"Is that all, dude?" America interrupted him and then without waiting for an answer, he turned to England, "Whatya doin' Artie?"

England sighed, "I need to get in touch with Scotland so that I can tell him to send the plane to get us."

"You mean like a taxi?" America asked.

"No… yes…"

"… Of course that was not all! There were other awful things!" Austria said.

"He is an awful man," Russia said.

England looked around, "There must be a radio transmitter room somewhere."

"Why can't we use a phone?" America asked, twirling his rifle around.

England halted the twirling with one hand, "Will you stop bloody doing that? There are no phones, you idiot. What am I supposed to do? Just say to Jerry, excuse me, may I just use your phone?"

America frowned and thought about it.

"There were no napkins!" Austria suddenly told them.

Russia shook his head, "Animals."

Austria nodded.

"I also need to tell Hamish that we have Agent XX."

"Agent XX? is that my codename?" Austria asked. He looked appalled.

England didn't answer. They found a radio transmitter room where a lone German was sat with his back to them, listening to Beethoven.

"I would have thought I would have a far more elegant codename than that. I asked that they call me Mozart," Austria told him.

"That's too obvious." England whispered. "Russia?"

"Da?"

"I need you to kill him," England pointed at the German, who had his back to them.

Russia didn't see who he had pointed at, and put his large hands around Austria's neck and squeezed.

Thankfully, Austria didn't scream. He couldn't. His vocal chords were being cut off.

"Not him! Why would I want you to kill him? We've only just bloody rescued him!" England hissed.

Russia removed his hands and Austria sagged against him.

"Well I did wonder," Russia whispered.

England pointed at the German, "I meant him..."

"I'll do it, with my super ninja skills," America said and crept along the room.

He'd just got to the man and was about the throttle him when the German turned round and was about to hit the alarm button.

Russia skidded in and grabbed the man and held him up in the air. "I don't like Germans," Russia growled.

"Can we please use your radio telephone thingy?" America asked.

The German, his eyes bulging with fear at Russia, nodded hurriedly.

England shook his head, "France, Russia you keep look out," he ordered. "Peter Pan to Braveheart, come in Braveheart," he said into the radio receiver.

"Is he actually going to come into the room?" America asked.

"No, he's not. It's just something we say on the radio."

Russia stepped out, taking the German with him - still dangling from his hand.

France sighed very audibly and filed his broken nail - showing Russia the results. Russia pretended not to be interested.

"Braveheart, come in Braveheart..."

"Hey we could just ring him..." America said, pointing at the nearby telephone.

"We can't just ring him! I already told you."

America shrugged and picked up a phone and could be heard dialling and then, "Yeah? Uncle Hamish?"

"You've got to be kidding me!" England tried to snatch the phone from him.

Outside in the corridor, Russia was still clutching the German as if he'd forgotten him and listened to Austria's list of complaints.

"No coffee…"

Russia shook his head.

"No decent wine."

France gasped.

"We saw a Denrog, Uncle Hamish! I know! It was ace! You've never seen one? Yeah… I'll try to get you a fridge magnet," America was saying into the phone.

England snatched it from him, "Hamish? Braveheart? This is Peter Pan. No, he's an idiot," England said, glancing at America. "No, we won't. We have better things to do than pick up souvenirs for you. Yes we have Rumpelstiltskin."

"Who is Rumpelstiltskin?" Austria asked.

"You," Russia said, looming over him. The German soldier was still dangling from one of his hands and he struggled weakly and Russia just tightened his hold and frowned at him.

"That is appalling!"

"Eet eez, isn't it?" France muttered, bored.

"I'm definitely going to make a complaint! I was their top agent you know."

Russia ignored him.

"I am zere top agent!" France argued.

England, however, was busy talking to Hamish, "The plane will be here won't it? At the designated place? Because I don't quite trust you. Yes, in an hour? Two hours? Who?" here England paused and listened, "Really? Agent Little Red Riding Hood is meeting us?" England looked very surprised. "Are you sure?" he asked 'Braveheart' and then listened and looked appalled at something his brother had said, "What? We're not allowed to kill Gilbert? Why? He's our best undercover agent but he doesn't know it?"

But he was interrupted by Russia who poked his head around the corner, still clutching the hapless German radio operator. "We have company!"

"Yay! Is it one of my mates?" America asked.

England hurriedly hung up as Russia looked at America and said, "Nyet, not unless you are best friends with Germans?"

"Not really."

France had already took out a pistol from his bra and was pulling a grenade from the tops of his stockings as England emerged. It was an image England could have gone another 1000 years without seeing.

"Man!" America exclaimed as a hail of bullets ricocheted around them.

Russia suddenly remembered he had a German in his hand and threw him as a projectile at the German soldiers hiding around the corner.

They heard Gilbert yelling, "What the fucking hell was that? Who threw Herman?"

"Hahaha! Herman the German!" America laughed and reloaded his submachine gun.

Austria shook head, "Appalling," he said as they dived into the (now dead) radio operator's room and peered around the doorway.

America leapt out at regular intervals and fired his gun.

"France, throw your grenade at them and we can make a run for it!" England urged.

France threw a grenade, which bounced off the walls and out of the window.

"Oh poo!" France said.

Russia shook his head, picked up the heavy wooden table the radio sat on, forced his way out of the door - shoving America out of the way as he did so - and threw the desk/table down the corridor at the Germans who were just about to recommence firing.

There were shouting and some screams and England ushered them out. "Quickly! America - you cover…" he didn't have to say anything else, America was cheerily decorating the stone corridor with submachine gun bullets.

"That table you threw down that corridor was probably a priceless antique!" Austria exclaimed as England shoved him out.

"Yes, yes… come on!" England said.

"We could split up and look for Germans!" America shouted.

"We don't have to bloody look, they're right there!" England told him.

"If we split up we can cause more damage," Russia said, with a glint in his eye.

"Do you remember the plan of the castle that Hamish showed us at the briefing?" England asked them.

America, in between shooting, nodded and then shook his head.

Russia nodded.

France frowned, "I have it in my head, mon ami," he said, pointing to his head. "I have been here many many times…"

"Well we won't go into that, will we?" England said hurriedly. It was another image he didn't want in his head.

They were now running down the corridor and around a corner. "Right, chaps. We split up. We meet on the east side of the castle at the entrance to the cable car."

"Right, where's that? Are there some signs?" America asked, scratching his head.

"I wish you'd bloody well pay attention!" England said and added, "France, you go with America and show him where it is!"

France pouted, "I wanted to stay with you and Austria. He looks like he needs some tender loving care after his torture."

Austria stepped away from him, "I'm fine! I will be brave! I'm sure I can cope with my injuries. The psychological scars will be with me for a long time though…"

England shook his head. "Russia, you're with me and Austria."

"I can go alone. I like to fight alone," Russia said.

England shook his head, "That's an order."

"I don't take orders from you, I outrank you. I'm a General."

"Jeez…" America muttered.

England stepped away as Russia loomed over him. He didn't want to be on his own with Austria - the man was annoying him to death but it was imperative to get him back to London for questioning.

"Well… If you're captured, you know what to do!" he said hurriedly and pulled Austria along with him, taking a left turn. He called back, "And don't forget to keep in touch on your walkie-talkies!"

"Ah yes! I know what I'm going to do if I get captured and tied up, I want to look my best!" France said, re-applying his lipstick.

America frowned, "If we get stuck I'm going to join the Denrog…" he said as he and France took off in the opposite direction.

Russia pulled out his battered and bloody walkie-talkie and frowned. He swiped his blood-stained lead pipe in the air, "If I am captured I will take as many down to hell with me as I can," he said, chillingly. He then let rip a monstrous howl like a wolf, sniffed the air and took off back the way they had come. He had Germans to kill.

* * *

Earlier… Half an hour earlier as it happens.

Gilbert came skidding back down the corridor to check on his prisoner. He had thought up more insidious and diabolical torture methods whilst he had been down to the canteen. He whistled happily, and then remembered that the prisoner had agreed to talk.

He stopped and wondered where the guards were. Idiots. He'd been trying to bring them under his tutelage in all things martial. For the past few centuries they had both resented him, he was sure of it. Saxony had been one of his provinces and Prussia thought of him as a rich idiot. He didn't have any higher opinion of Silesia, who Prussia was convinced was gay for Austria.

He'd convinced his brother that they could be trusted as guards. How could anyone mess that up? So he was astounded, indeed his monocle fell off, when he saw the cell door wide open and found them gagged and bound.

He sighed. "Morons," he said, undoing them. "Where is that posh twerp?"

"England took him…" Saxony replied, standing and rubbing at his aching legs.

"Ja," Silesia nodded.

"You're bloody joking! Arthur is here?"

"Ja and America and France…"

"Fuck…"

"France was dressed as a lady… He looked like that barmaid down at the tavern in the village," Saxony said.

Gilbert looked up and flushed bright red, "Nein! You are lying!"

"It was definitely her… him…"

"Mein Gott! She said she loved me!" Gilbert yelled and then quickly shut his mouth. He really needed to have a bath. Now.

"You too!?" Silesia looked as if he were going to cry.

"Stop crying!" Gilbert said. "We can still get Roderich back. And…" here he looked especially demonic and diabolical. "…We will capture England and his little band of idiots. I will torture them and get the plans for the Invasion from them!"

"The Invasion? But haven't we already done that? Why would he have that, boss?" Saxony asked.

"What?"

"We've already invaded France and Poland and…"

"Not our invasions, you dummkopf!" he swiped Saxony around the head, "I mean their planned Invasion of France!"

"They're going to invade France? Why?" Silesia asked, confused.

Prussia shook his head. He didn't have time to explain. "Move it, you morons. We need to get them before they escape!"

"I ain't moving," Saxony said and sat back down and began to put his ropes back on.

"What?"

"They have…" here Saxony crossed himself. "…Russia."

Prussia gulped and resisted the urge to lie down.

Silesia looked like he was going to cry. Obviously, finding out that the buxom barmaid he'd been wooing was actually a boozy 1000 plus year old Nation, and a male one at that, had tipped the Province into depression. The idea that Russia himself, the terror of Eastern Europe, was also on the rampage didn't help.

"What will Ludwig say when he finds out?" Saxony asked, quietly.

Gilbert pulled a horrid face which made Saxony jump back. "Come on, minions! We will capture them all! We will redeem ourselves."

"Yes, boss," they got to their feet but they were shaking.

"We will do what no other Germans have done - capture Russia!" he said as he strode off down the corridor. "Hundreds have tried. Our best men. Our best assassins and snipers have tried and had their heads ripped off. Well we will show them how it's done. We will capture the so-called Big Bad Wolf and show him who's boss! I will torture him personally and… guys… guys?" he turned around. His minions were nowhere to be seen.

* * *

England pulled Austria into what looked to be a cleaners cupboard as a horde of German soldiers stomped past.

"Well I'm glad we got rid of that riff raff," Austria told him.

"Do you mean America?"

"No, not the boy. He's okay, I suppose if you like loudness."

"You mean Russia?"

"Dear God! Keep your voice down, Arthur! Do I look like I'm trying to commit suicide?"

Arthur sighed. "You mean France?"

"Honestly, what on earth was he supposed to be wearing? I had no idea I was passing information to him of all people! You may as well have got the Marx Brothers."

England shook his head and peeked out of the door, "Shush," he whispered as they heard voiced outside.

It was Gilbert and he was stood right outside their door.

"Well I'm telling you that when my bruder gets here, heads will roll… I mean who was guarding the front gate anyway? Oh, those two…"

(England shook his head and whispered to Austria, "The Italies," as a way of explanation.)

"…And I mean who gave Marianne, I mean er, Francis, the front door key anyway?"

"It was you, boss," the soldier in front of him said. "In fact you said that she was to have the run of the place as she was your beloved and…"

(England smiled and shuddered at this in equal measure. Austria looked appalled and quite disgusted.)

"You just shut up! Did I ask you your opinion?"

The soldier looked confused, "Well yes…"

"Anyway, never mind all that!" Prussia said quickly and changed the subject. "…And any news on that sniper, the White Wolf? Has anybody caught him yet?"

"Nein, Sir. We think it's a she and…"

"What do you mean it's a she? Don't be stupid! Do I look like I don't know the difference between a man and woman?"

"Well…"

There was an explosion somewhere below them. England smiled. That would be the 'boy' getting over-enthusiastic with his dynamite.

Prussia swore and stomped off.

"That monocle doesn't suit him, does it?" England muttered.

"Tell me about it," Austria groaned.

* * *

"There will be hell to pay when my bruder gets back! Get our best men onto it at once!" Gilbert was ordering as he surveyed the flames in the castle courtyard.

A particularly large soldier saluted him and said, "We got the guards at the gate to put the fires out, Sir!"

"The guards at the gate?" Prussia looked up at him, suspiciously.

The soldier was about to respond when they dived for cover as another explosion rocked the building and part of the north wing collapsed.

"Mein Gott what was that? Have we been hit by a bomb?" Prussia gasped, standing up and dusting his uniform. He was about to lose his temper, he'd just lost his monocle.

"I think that must be the Italian fire fighting team…" the soldier said haplessly. "They said they knew what they were doing…"

Prussia watched, his mouth agape as one Italian fanned at the flames with a large blanket whilst another was throwing cans of what surely he must have thought were water onto the burning inferno.

On the side, printed in German, was 'Petrol'.

"Jump!" Prussia yelled and leapt for his life.

* * *

Germany stepped off the train onto the platform and smiled to himself. He'd had a lovely, relaxing day. Yes, his boss, Italy and his brother had been right, he'd needed a day off. He hoisted his backpack onto his back and headed towards the Castle Farting, whistling.

He soon stopped when he saw the flames. And then a second explosion. Surely not? It was fireworks, it had to be. Surely this was just his brother celebrating after getting the information from the prisoner.

But then he looked up at the mountain and the castle perched up there. Or what was left of the castle. A large chunk seemed to have collapsed.

He hurried towards the cable car (he certainly wasn't going to take his chances in the tunnels, who knew what horrors lurked there).

He was bowled over by a deserting guard and dropped his backpack. His pressed wild flower collection spilled out of his bag.

He turned to admonish the guard and found himself being hugged by a small, singed, sobbing Italian.

"It wasn't my fault, Luddy-kins! I thought it said 'water' but it didn't say 'water', my German is not very good. And I really did think we could see the Pope. I should have known there was no Pope Dave. Mr England is a big fat liar with his pants on fire!"

"Oh no…" Germany groaned.

 **Author's Note:**

 **Of course the White Wolf is Latvia as explained in the Baltic Secrets**


	8. A Gift Too Far

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters do not belong and nor did I invent them - they are purely the imagination of Himaruya Hidekaz.**

 **Thank you for those who have reviewed, followed and favourited this story: Cthe, LunaTheBlackWolf, Hetalia Banzai, Elric Gurl, Red-Hot Habanero, fanfictionfanatic 42, 4368Howard, Kate Marley, Pastaaddict, Silent Searcher, Mely Val, Magicflyingmintbunnies, Just a stereotype, Alternative Dragons, Cu-cu for cocopops, ShrapnelGirl, MysteriousKatlover, Irish Maid, Kadek-is-the-best, Quity190, nekohime15, ApplePajama & Pandoala.**

 **Where Idiots Dare**

 **Chapter 8 A Gift Too Far**

England had often found himself in confined spaces with various Nations. Some Nations were worse than others for sharing such spaces with. France being one. Austria was definitely another. But not for the same reasons.

The Austrian would not shut up about his imagined torture and England had to keep nodding (to be polite) and just ignore him.

They were sharing what appeared to be a cleaners cupboard and England was peeking out of a kink in the door at the scene outside.

Gilbert, still smouldering (and not in a France type way), his clothes giving off smoke and his white-blond hair stuck up on end, was talking to his brother.

Germany no longer looked relaxed. "What in God's name happened to you?"

"I can explain…"

"Really? I was only gone one day… one day to relax and er… do my hobby, recoup my energy reserves and I come back and find this utter chaos!"

"Do you want a sandwich?" Gilbert suddenly offered him a very squashed sandwich.

Austria grabbed England's arm, "That was meant for me! The cheek of it!" he whispered.

England shook his head and pulled himself away and almost fell over a mop bucket.

"Nein! I do not!" Ludwig smacked it out of his hand. "Please tell me the prisoner is still in his cell?"

Austria shook his head, "Ha! I escaped…" he whispered triumphantly.

"You mean you were rescued," England corrected him.

"It's the same thing…" Austria said petulantly.

"I beg to differ…" England snorted.

"Well… it's like this…" Gilbert started to say.

"I leave you in charge for just one day and the place just about falls to bits. Don't tell me you left Saxony and Silesia as guards?" Germany continued.

"Well…"

Germany was marching up and down as he talked to his brother, "Mein gott! This is too much! I told you they were absolutely useless morons!"

Gilbert was trying to indicate that Saxony and Silesia were actually stood behind Germany, he pointed and gesticulated, "Erm… you might want to… They're not that bad! They're quite good lads."

"Not that bad? They're stupid! I've seen cannonballs that are less dense. I've worn trousers with a higher IQ!"

Prussia couldn't disagree with this. "Are you two guys going to stand there and take that?" he said.

Saxony looked at Silesia, who shrugged. "Well, we kind of just did."

"It wasn't our fault that England got in…" Silesia said.

Germany shook his head. "Ja… I already heard about that…" he said and indicated the quiet intermittent sobbing from Feliciano who was clinging to him. The Italian stunk of petrol and smoke.

"Yeah and America…" Saxony butted in.

"We couldn't stop him! He's a superpower!" Silesia said.

"I'm a superpower!" Germany yelled.

"Yes, but he's a proper one," Silesia muttered quietly.

England and Austria exchanged glances. America would just love that, they both thought.

"Our codenames for them are Mother Goose and the Ugly Duckling," England told Austria proudly.

Austria shook his head.

Outside in the corridor, Germany/Mother Goose was looking especially peevish…

"Did you just issue an invite to all the Allied Nations?" Germany said sarcastically.

"Nah! Netherlands, Belgium and Norway were all busy!" Prussia said.

"Don't tell me… Russia's here?" Germany asked.

"Well…"

Silesia and Saxony practically jumped into each others' arms. "We saw him… He threatened us with a laser death stare…"

Feliciano went white, "I'm going to go and find Pope Dave and pray for our souls…"

"There is no Pope Dave!" Germany yelled. (Feliciano crossed himself.) He pulled himself together. "And I presume Austria went off with them?" Germany said this as if they had all gone on a trip together.

"Well yes of course he did. He's a bloody traitor. Posh twit. I always said…" Prussia said.

Austria shook his head, "Bloody awful people. I can't tell you, Arthur, how much I detest them…" he whispered.

England really wished he would stop calling him 'Arthur' as if they were friends.

Germany massaged his temples. "Did you get any information out of him at all?" he asked wearily.

"Apparently, he told them about your underpants," Prussia admitted.

Germany went a startling shade of pink.

Silesia and Saxony sniggered.

Germany glared at them, "You two! Go and dig a hole or something… surely they can't mess that up? You too, Italy and your idiot brother wherever he is…" he added to Feliciano.

Gilbert raised an eyebrow.

"And what in God's name are you wearing that monocle for?" Germany asked his brother. "It's like being in a pantomime!"

Gilbert stomped off, "I'll show you!" he said, his clothes still smouldering.

"I told you. Dreadful people," Austria told England as they watched Germany shake his head and hurry off, ordering the soldiers around him to 'get their arses in gear and get the agents captured'.

"I see Ludwig did get his underpants sorted though…" Austria added.

"How do you know that?" England asked, despite not really wanting to know any more details about Germany's underwear predicaments.

"He suffers from what Gilbert calls wedgies," Austria whispered.

England shuddered.

"I see Gilbert finally got me that sandwich though. But no cucumber. You see what I had to put up with, Arthur?"

"It's a violation of human rights. No cucumber," England said. Whether this was sarcasm or not is unsure.

"I know!"

Arthur was pulling out his walkie-talkie. He really needed to talk to someone fairly normal.

"Are you going to tell them about my torture? I'm sure Russia will understand."

England didn't answer. "Charming? Prince Charming? Frog Prince? Come in? Where are you?"

The walkie-talkie buzzed, "Yo!" came a voice.

"It's Charming. Not yo!"

"It's not nice here. Is the weather good there then, Artie?"

"It's not Artie, it's Peter Pan!"

Alfred ignored this, "Dude Francy-pants is doing some spying stuff."

England looked confused.

Austria whispered, "Tell him about my sandwich. Honestly, you have no idea how horrific it's been."

England ignored him, "Prince Charming, Mother Goose and the Ugly Duckling have just moved out… I repeat… Mother Goose and the Ugly Duckling have moved out and know you are here…"

"Wow! Really? Is there some kind of petting zoo?" America asked.

"No you bloody fool. I mean Prussia and Germany! Now get a bloody move on and tell France to stop mucking around!"

"Why? Are we on a schedule?" Alfred asked.

"Of course we bloody are! We have a rendezvous with Red Riding Hood."

"Wow… is Red Riding Hood one of the zookeepers?" America asked wonderingly. "Anyway, gotta go… Francy-pants needs me to check his make-up…"

"Wait what? Put him on! France?" England almost yelled down the walkie-talkie but Austria put this hand over his mouth.

"Over and out!" Austria said into the walkie-talkie.

England shoved him back, "Hey! It's my walkie-talkie!" They wrestled ineffectually over it for a moment before it buzzed repeatedly and a purple haze issued from it.

They tried to pass it to one another until a voice emanated from it.

"Privet Peter Pan and Rumpelstiltskin?"

"I hate my codename," Austria muttered.

"Hello Big Bad Wolf!" England replied.

"Da! I am!" Russia said happily. They heard a horrid crunch and a scream cut off. "Sorry about that, what were you saying?"

"Austria doesn't like his codename. Where are you?"

"I'm in a gift shop! Someone asked me if I wanted any help but I said no and he was trying to get me to join as a member of the Friends of Castle Farting or something."

Austria nodded, "You get free admission for life, if you do," he told him.

England shook his head. "We're at war!" he said in his serious voice.

"Shall I buy some souvenirs?" Russia asked and then there was another cut-off scream.

England would have cut him off but he was a bit scared, "Erm… I think… just some fridge magnets for my brother," he said quickly.

"Da, okay!" Russia said chirpily.

Russia could then be heard saying, "Can I take this and this and oh, this box of fudge for my Baltics?"

They could hear some poor German saying something and then Russia saying, "Really? For free? Thank you!"

"How come he gets free stuff?" Austria asked, appalled. "I didn't even get a coaster!"

"Because he's a bloodthirsty psychopath," England said quietly.

"What was that, Mr Peter Pan?" came the voice over the walkie-talkie.

"Nothing, nothing. Bye then. See you in a bit!" England said, far more cheerily than he felt.

England peered out of the door and quickly shut it again. "Damn and bloody blast! There's at least a dozen bloody Germans out there!"

Austria sighed, "Well we'll have to wait for them to shift then, won't we?" he began to brush at his usually immaculate velvet jacket. "I got filthy in that cell. There was no laundry service at all. I put my shoes outside the door and nobody came along to polish them."

England stared at him aghast, "This isn't a 4 star hotel!"

"I know! And you can tell. When Baron Farting owned the place it was beautiful. It really was."

But this all gave England an idea, especially when he spied a few things in the cupboard that could help…

* * *

"So, what do you do for a living?" France/Marianne said seductively.

"I erm… I'm a Major in the Luftwaffe…" the Major pointed to his uniform and his flying 'wings'.

"Of course you are!"

"Do you want some more wine, Marianne? You're looking very erm… interesting…" the Major said.

France was sat at a table in the officers' mess drinking wine and eating some kind of awful German sausage. He was on a date. It was all part of France's cunning and fiendish plan.

"Waiter! More wine please for the lady!" the Major called. "You can't get the staff these days," he whispered conspiratorially.

"Oh I know!" France whispered, leaning across the table, his wig a little askew but his false boobs pressed against his silky blouse. He shifted a little as he was sat on a grenade (with the pin still in, thank goodness).

The waiter plonked the wine down and leaned down to whisper in France's ear, "Man! I ain't no waiter!"

France looked up into America's blue eyes, "Ah you're so cute!" he murmured and patted his cheek - rather hard - and sent him away.

America stomped off grumbling, a tea-towel over his arm, an apron around his middle. He really thought this was stupid. Shouldn't they be killing Germans, not wining and dining them?

"So my leetle Major…You were telling me?" France said, leaning forward.

"About what?" the Major shuffled around in his seat. In the glaring light of the officers' mess, Marianne the barmaid did not look as attractive as she had done in the dark smoky atmosphere of the village Tavern.

"About your job… it sounds so… glamorous!" France breathed.

"It does?"

"Of course! All those planes you have to fly and all those codes you have to remember!"

"Codes?"

"For landing and taking off! You are so clever!" France said, leaning forward.

"Ah yes! Well when you're clever like me… why is that waiter glaring at me?"

France turned round to see America gesticulating. He waved him away. But the 'boy' refused to move.

France sighed, got up and tottered across. "What eez wrong with you?"

"Why are you chatting him up?"

"Are you jealous?"

"Jeez! No! But Artie dude might be! I thought we were escaping!"

"Ah Arthur… mon amor… I have to get some information from ze silly German fool."

"Yeah okay…" America shuffled from foot to foot and looked like an impatient child waiting for their parent.

"If you're good, I'll get you some sweeties later, okay?" France said.

America's eyes lit up.

France headed back to the table, "Sorry about that, sweetie. You tell me all about it…"

"I shouldn't be here…my wife…"

France put his hands up in mock horror, "Your wife! You never told me you were married! Oh Gustav! How could you? I thought we were meant to be together! What will I tell the children?"

"We don't have any… children? Oh mein Gott!" the man went very pale. "That night we didn't… I mean.. I was very drunk…."

"You mean you don't remember? Oh Gustav! What will everybody think of me? I will never hold my head up high again…" France said, looking as if he were going to swoon.

America frowned and shook his head, but his hand tightened on his rifle.

The man was panicking now. There were still sounds of gunfire somewhere. "I erm…"

"And what will your superiors say? What will…" here France paused, taking a big gulp of wine, "…General Beilschmidt say?"

The major began finding that his collar was suddenly too tight. "I er…"

"Or… Major Gilbert Beilschmidt?"

"Nein! Please don't tell them! I'd never live it down!"

France smiled. It wasn't exactly how he was going to get the codes but this was just as good. "Give me some information and they will never need to know…"

"But that's blackmail!"

"Blackmail is such an ugly word. Like sabotage. And slaughter. But not code. Code is a far more lovely word…" France said, smiling a deadly smile.

* * *

While France was blackmailing a poor unsuspecting Luftwaffe officer for landing codes. Russia had a dilemma of his own.

"Do you have any t-shirts?" he asked the man behind the counter.

He was stood in the Castle Farting souvenir shop browsing the wares and wondering what gifts he could take back for Estonia and Lithuania. He'd already picked up a box of fudge (with 'Castle Farting' printed in gothic script on the top), a fridge magnet for Scotland and was looking at the t-shirts.

Ivan had been a little surprised to find a souvenir shop but then again, the castle did appear to be on the tourist trail. After all, he was there wasn't he?

"We don't sell t-shirts…"

"What about… maps of the castle?" Russia asked, with a flash of genius.

The man nodded and pointed to a shelf full of touristy maps.

Russia grinned happily and, humming, flicked through some. "I'll take one of these as well… actually I'd better take three if I catch up with my friends." (America, France, Austria and England would all be amazed that he called them 'friends'.)

He then dashed out, after all, he had a schedule to keep. But not before he signed the visitors book, 'SUNFLOWERS DA?' in blood, a childish smiley face underneath.

* * *

"I feel a right bloody fool," England muttered.

Austria resisted the urge to tell him that he looked it. But then he would have to say that he did too. And he didn't think he did. In fact, he thought the Tour Guide uniform was rather splendid.

"Do you think this will work?" England asked.

"It will if you keep your mouth shut and leave the talking to me," Austria said.

"I say! I'm in charge here you know!"

"Can you speak German?"

"Nein, I mean er ja. Zis is eine Denrog!" England said triumphantly, after much spluttering and humming and harring.

"Denrog! Where?" Austria almost jumped into his arms.

"Well…"

"Fine. Leave it to me. Don't say a word." Austria said confidently and opened the door.

**To be continued **


	9. Revenge of the Reich

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters do not belong and nor did I invent them - they are purely the imagination of Himaruya Hidekaz.**

 **Thank you for those who have reviewed, followed and favourited this story: Fikushon sakka,** **Cthe, LunaTheBlackWolf, Hetalia Banzai, Elric Gurl, Red-Hot Habanero, fanfictionfanatic 42, 4368Howard, Kate Marley, Pastaaddict, Silent Searcher, Mely Val, Magicflyingmintbunnies, Just a stereotype, Alternative Dragons, Cu-cu for cocopops, ShrapnelGirl, MysteriousKatlover, Irish Maid, Kadek-is-the-best, Quity190, nekohime15, ApplePajama & Pandoala.**

 **Where Idiots Dare**

Chapter 9 - Revenge of the Reich

"So which way did they go?" Gilbert was asking some confused looking German soldiers.

They all shrugged.

"Well they can't have just disappeared? Has anyone searched the tunnel?" Gilbert persisted.

Everyone looked horrified.

"There's nothing to be scared of! It's just a legend," Gilbert insisted. "I want a search party to go into that tunnel and a good dozen men to follow me. There's only one other way out of this castle and that's the cable car…"

But he was halted by his walkie-talkie buzzing.

"Guten tag?" he asked. "This is Major Gilbert Awesomeness Beilschmidt, Head of Awesome and Obergruppenfuhrer of Awesome."

"Hahahaha! Ugly Duckling!" an insolent American voice yelled at him and then cut out.

"Ugly Duckling!" Gilbert was beside himself with rage. "Ugly Duckling!"

Someone sniggered behind him.

"They will all pay, everyone will pay for this outrage!" he turned to the nearest person. It was Romano. "You will come with me. I know where this upstart American is and I know that he will not kill fellow Nations. We will trap him and I will teach him to call me such a name!"

"I'm supposed to be digging holes with my fratello," Romano said insolently.

The walkie-talkie buzzed again, "Yo! Dude Obergruppenfuhrer Ugly Duckling! Tell yer lame bro that we call him Mother Goose and that we just know he lurves Mary and his Little Lamb!" America yelled and cut off.

Gilbert's monocle fell out in his rage, "What!" he yelled.

"I mean the Italies, dude!" America yelled again down the walkie-talkie. "Yeah, we will prevail over evil and injustice and… yeah yeah Francy, I'm comin'… Jeez keep yer knickers on…"

The walkie-talkie went dead.

* * *

To be fair, America probably didn't need a walkie-talkie to converse with someone at the other side of the castle. This was also a view held by France who smartly knocked out the Luftwaffe major with a deftly dropped sleeping pill into the officer's wine. (France's compact held many useful weapons.)

"Come on, allez!" France shouted to America, readjusting his false boobs as he ran down the steps.

"Ally? My name's Alfred…" America muttered, reluctantly cutting off his conversation with Gilbert.

"We have to find Arthur, Roderich and Ivan and get out of here," France told him, breathlessly.

"Why are you out of breath? You should do fitness training like me," America told him and began to suddenly do star jumps and press-ups right in the middle of the stone corridor.

France shook his still quite perfectly coiffeured hair, "Ah my leetle Amerique, but you are not wearing ze big boobies are you?" he pointed out.

America jumped to his feet, flushing bright pink, "I ain't gay!" he insisted.

"Of course not, my leetle Amerique!" France leered, winking at him.

America shuddered. "Come on then, let's find the others!" he said hurriedly. He really didn't want to spend any more time on his own with a clearly drunk French transvestite.

* * *

This view was shared by England. He didn't want to spend any more time than was reasonably necessary with Austria.

The Austrian had finally stopped bemoaning the lack of care he had received at the hands of his captors and had even stopped talking about the psychological torture he had been subjected to by Gilbert (Arthur could not work out why Austria hadn't simply punched the Prussian).

Austria and England were dressed in quite smart blue blazers with the crest of Castle Farting emblazoned on them (two feather dusters crossed over a spreadeagled er...eagle) with the family motto "Reichtum und bier".

England asked what the motto meant, Austria whispered back, "Wealth and beer. Baron Farting did owe me money when he died. I never got it back. Never lend money, Arthur…"

England shook his head. He really wished though, that they weren't dressed like bus conductors.

Austria, however, was in his element.

Thankfully, Austria's tour was conducted entirely in German. England only caught the odd word that he understood - "kaiser", "lederhosen", "apple strudel" and "farting". England had no idea whatsoever how they could be linked with a tour of the castle.

In German:

"The 7th Baron Farting inherited the castle from his mad father when he was just 10. His father had an obsession with having all the cleaners in the castle being Italian. This was stupid really… He also refused to eat anything that was not apple strudel. He had a horse named Mrs Miggins."

Austria paused as they came to the end of a corridor. He turned round to look at the dozen or so German soldiers who were following them, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. One of them whispered to the other "I always wanted to know about this place, didn't you?"

"Please keep up!" Austria told them. He opened one of the doors to his left. "This is the bedroom of the 10th Baron whose pet-name was Pinky. He insisted on everyone calling him that. Even the Hapsburg Emperor. I did tell him that that was stupid… Moving on… you can see the portrait of his father, aunt, cousin and great uncle on the walls. Yes, they were all the same person. Odd…"

Austria raised an eyebrow at England. As England had no idea what he said, England frowned and indicated that perhaps they should get going.

Austria continued at a great pace down through the castle. They had now accumulated another half dozen soldiers. "This is of course the throne room of the 13th Baron. He had a very sad story. He died of hypothermia…"

When there was a collective sigh from the German soldiers, Austria added, "He painted himself blue and danced in the snow in nothing but a pair of lederhosen."

"Lederhosen…" England sniggered to himself.

Nobody else laughed. In fact the Germans all turned to look at England and some tutted in disgust.

Austria moved on, further down into the bowels of the castle. "This is the dungeons where, for a time, the most illustrious Count Von Hapsburg was kept in squalor and tortured beyond belief by a dastardly villain. But escaped with great heroism, eluding capture for hours until…" Austria led them into a cell, shoving England back out. "… He made his way through wind and rain to rescue…"

"…A princess?" a German soldier asked hopefully.

"…Der Fuhrer?" another German asked.

"…his wallet," Austria concluded and with that, ensuring that the soldiers were in the cell, he ran out and slammed the door.

"Ha!" he said triumphantly to England.

England frowned, "You need to lock that door, Austria. Or they will just follow us!"

For a good five minutes they 'faffed around' (England's words) looking for the key. Thankfully, the most inept guards in the castle - Saxony and Silesia - had left the key in the lock and they managed to lock the door before the Germans had even tried the door.

"I'm surprised at the incompetence of those soldiers, really," England said.

Austria shook his head, "Nein, they are not incompetent. It's just that they like a good story. Don't we all?"

"Well…"

"And this place has so much history…It was here as a guest of the Baron Farting that I met a beautiful Hungarian girl, who I thought was a boy at first… strange… but then…"

England rolled his eyes, "Look, I'm sorry to interrupt your fairytale reminiscences but we have a war to win."

"Okay okay, calm down!" Austria said, which was ironic England thought.

They turned a corner and hit what seemed to be a padded brick wall. It was Russia.

"Privet! I got your souvenirs that you wanted, Mr England!" Russia looked very pleased.

England almost threw up. "Oh dear God!" he muttered.

England's reaction was not due to the fridge magnets, or the boxes of fudge, or even the t-shirts that said 'I heart Castle Farting', but the fact that Russia had held up a disembodied head.

"I can't give my brother that!" England said, utterly appalled.

Austria fainted dead away.

"This? I thought you said he wanted a fridge magnet?" Russia frowned and then realised he was holding up a head. He hurriedly threw it away and instead, handed England a carrier bag of souvenirs.

"Right, let's get out of here. Russia? Can you pick him up and… oh bugger. I have no idea which way it is to the cable car."

Russia nodded and picked up Austria none too gently and threw him over his shoulder, "I have a solution for you, England," he told him.

"Really?" England looked suspiciously up at the Russian. He really hoped Russia wasn't going to produce another part of a German soldier.

Russia dug around in his pocket and produced a map. He unfolded it and, if England hadn't been so terrified, he would have laughed. The reason? It was a pop-up tourist map of the Castle.

England had to stuff his hand in his mouth to stop himself from giggling.

"I know! It is very good, isn't it? We only have to go right here, then left, right again, second left, third right, down these steps, past the gift shop, past the canteen… oh I can get a sandwich, then up these steps and…"

"I'm going to walkie-talkie France and Alfred and tell them…" England said quickly, taking out his walkie-talkie.

"Da! You do that!" Russia grinned and looked at his map in his happy childish manner, still holding Austria over his shoulder.

"Yo!" America said as his walkie-talkie buzzed.

"It's not 'yo', it's Charming here, how many times do I have to tell you?" England said.

America seemed to think about this, because there was silence.

"Alfred? I mean… Charming?"

"Yo?"

"In the name of King Harold's underwear…"

"We're having a bit of bother…" America said.

England shook his head. "That's no excuse… did you remember that you're to meet us at the cable car? We're going there now. Russia has maps. Austria is unconscious… Is Francis with you?"

There was silence and then America came back on, panting, "Dude… that was close…"

"What's going on?"

"Man! We had to fight our way through!"

"Both of you?"

"Nah! We're not fighting. We're getting along quite happily!" America said, in between sounds of shooting.

"I mean are you both fighting? I don't mean you're fighting each other!"

"Oh yeah… Francy-pants has a fancy girly pistol he's using. He also had a grenade up his skirt!"

"Oh dear God!"

"I didn't get to tell them about the Baroness, Gertrude von Winklebum Farting. She danced with Emperor Ferdinand and he died of fright…" Austria whispered urgently. He'd come round a little, but was still over Russia's shoulder and was craning his head to look at England. He claimed he was still 'too weak' to walk.

"That's not important!" England hissed at him.

"Well I rather think it is! It was an integral part of the tour," Austria replied, and then slumped back over Russia's shoulder.

* * *

While England and Austria bickered, and America and France were fighting valiantly (which was a totally new experience for France) and Russia was eating from a box of fudge and still holding Austria, Prussia was laying a cunning trap.

"Kesese!" Prussia laughed evilly.

Romano shook his head and lit another cigarette. "When do we get off work and go seduce pretty girls?" he asked.

Prussia ignored him. "They will never suspect this!" he said dramatically.

Feliciano stood next to his brother, "I'm glad you got me out of digging that hole for Luddy-kins, fratello. My back hurts and I'm tired now."

All three were stood in the control room of the cable car. They looked in a very sorry state. With singed hair and blackened faces, their clothes stinking of smoke and in Prussia's case, a large hole the size of Berlin at the back of his usually crisply ironed pants (he couldn't see this and nobody had the guts to tell him), they looked a motley crew. They certainly did not look like the 'last line of defence' (Prussia's words).

The cable car was the only exit to the castle.

Prussia told them this again - for the fourteenth time. "They have to come this way! And when they do, we will catch them!" he said.

"It can't be the only exit to the castle," Romano pointed out.

"Well it is," Prussia said.

"But what about the entrance? How do people get in?" Feliciano asked, dimly.

"The same way, you moron!" Prussia said.

"Oh yeah… we came in this way. Luddy had to hold my hand. I don't like heights."

Prussia ignored him.

"They say there is another entrance…" Romano said, examining his cigarette.

"Nobody talks about that!" Prussia said quickly. "Now, we stand here either side of the doorway and when they come in…"

"We what?"

"We jump on them!" Prussia said.

"On Russia?!" Romano looked as if he were going to faint.

His fratello did.

"Bloody hell! Nein! I mean we capture them!"

"What with?" Romano ignored the prone body of his brother.

"With our weapons!" Prussia said and held up a rather old-fashioned musket.

"My gun isn't real," Romano pointed out.

"Damn… well… You should go and finish digging holes for my bruder then!" Prussia exclaimed.

* * *

"They can't even dig a proper bloody hole!" Germany was saying.

Silesia and Saxony were leaning on shovels and grumbling to each other.

"Where are those Italians?"

Silesia and Saxony ignored him.

"I'm telling you, we should have gone with Austria," Silesia whispered to Saxony.

"No way. There is no way I am going with him. We'll end up doing laundry and scrubbing his floors for the rest of the war!" Saxony whispered back.

"It would be better than this!"

"We might still get glory in battle."

"Don't be stupid. And besides, I don't want glory in battle. Stalingrad was awful. I'm so glad we ran away…"

"Yes, but they bloody caught us didn't they? If it wasn't for Gilbert we'd have been shot."

"I told you we shouldn't have taken that tank."

"How was I to know that it didn't have a reverse gear?"

They both went silent when they noticed Germany stood looking at them with arms folded. "I really want to say come with me and help get the prisoner back in his cell and capture the Allied spies, but I'm afraid you'll both mess up or defect or…"

"Hey! We're not defective…!"

"I said defect, not be defective… no, I was wrong you're both. I wish Austria had taken both of you. That would have solved most of my problems," Germany sighed. "Dig this hole. At least doing that you can't do any more damage. I'm going to catch those spies," he said and strode away.

He picked up his walkie-talkie and spoke into it. "Ja ja… we searched the whole of what is left of the north wing… we put out the fire… any more news?" he asked his third in command (he had no idea where his second in command, and brother, was).

"Good," he said finally and walked with purpose back towards the castle. "I will head off the American and the French spy…"

* * *

"I really hope my castle is still standing when I get home," Austria was telling England and Russia.

"Oh my God! Will you bloody shut up about your redecorating plans? I wish you were bloody unconscious again! I wish we'd never bloody bothered rescuing you!" England yelled.

"Well…" Austria was still slung over Russia's shoulder and he was about to complain about Russia 'jiggling' him but decided it was probably best if he didn't.

Russia nodded.

"Yo!" the walkie-talkie buzzed. "We're gonna be a bit late. Francy-pants is redoing his lipstick."

"You have to be joking…" England muttered. He had no more patience to tell America once more that 'yo' was not a suitable term for radio communication.

"Oh yeah and Francy-pants has the codes for the landing thingy."

"The what?"

"The landing codes for the thingy," America repeated (or so he thought).

"You mean the Luftwaffe codes so our pilot can land at Farting Airport?" England asked.

"Oh God! Farting Airport! That just kills me!"

"Alfred! Pull yourself together!" England ordered.

"Yeah yeah… he got them. I won't tell you how he got them. I'm scarred for life though, man."

Russia, stood so close to England that he was breathing down his neck, was nodding.

"Just put him on the walkie-talkie," England said.

"Hang on. Hey Frog Prince! Dude Peter needs to talk to you!" America's yell was so loud, England, Russia and Austria could hear him from where they stood without the need for any radio.

England shook his head, "Alfred, keep your bloody voice down! We're nearly at the cable car. Where are you? Stop shouting or you're going to draw attention to yourself… and us," he added the latter quickly.

"Too late, dude…" America said.

Over the walkie-talkie, England listened in horror, Russia looked bored and Austria in petulant silence, to the following:

"Your lipstick is smeared, France…" Germany's voice came over loud and clear and menacing.

France replied, "You can't win, Ludwig. If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can ever imagine!"

"I have you now! Only at the end do you realise the power of the dark, I mean er… the German side! Only by joining us can you save your friends, Francis! Your feelings for them are strong, especially…Arthur!"

"I'll never join you!" France's voice rang out.

 ****To Be Continued ****


	10. The Return of the Idiot

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters do not belong to me and nor did I invent them - they are purely the imagination of Himaruya Hidekaz.**

 **Thank you for those who have reviewed, followed and favourited this story: Fikushon sakka, Cthe, LunaTheBlackWolf, Hetalia Banzai, Elric Gurl, Red-Hot Habanero, fanfictionfanatic 42, 4368Howard, Kate Marley, Pastaaddict, Silent Searcher, Mely Val, Magicflyingmintbunnies, Just a stereotype, Alternative Dragons, Cu-cu for cocopops, ShrapnelGirl, MysteriousKatlover, Irish Maid, Kadek-is-the-best, Quity190, nekohime15, ApplePajama & Pandoala.**

 **Where Idiots Dare**

 **Chapter 10 The Return of the Idiot**

"So we meet again, Francis…" Germany said, pulling a gun out and pointing it at France.

"We met the other week down in the tavern, remember?" France retorted, pulling himself together.

"No…" Germany was momentarily taken aback.

"You were drunk, leetle Ludwig…"

America, who was watching all this with a mixture of horror and fascination, held his gun loosely in his hand.

"No…"

"Ah but oui… You called me mon cher."

"It can't be true…" Germany's arrogant stance began to crumble.

"Oh jeez…" America muttered.

"But eet eez true. I was…am… Marianne… You said you loved me…" France's eyes glittered with a purely ruthless intent.

"Nooooo! It's not true! It's impossible!" Germany crumpled to the floor.

France stepped forward and stood over him, shaking his blond wigged head with comical sadness, "Ludwig, you can destroy Hitler. He has foreseen this. It is your destiny! Join me, and together we can rule Europe or at least France and Germany… if Russia lets us…" France hesitated, ignoring America's muffled giggling. "We can rule Western Europe together, as lovers!"

"Never!"

"Oh okay…" France tried not to look disappointed. "As non-sexual life partners then…"

"When you're done, can we get going?" America asked.

France nodded, "I'm so sorry Germany. You're such a cretin."

Germany, still in shock, watched them leave and then raised his gun, his finger on the trigger and fired…

* * *

"What the bloody hell is keeping that boy?" England asked no-one in particular.

He was bloody freezing. What was annoying him was that Russia was not freezing cold and seemed quite in his element and happily finishing off a box of fudge. Austria, for his part, was still over Russia's shoulder and was in a massive sulk and seemed to view the whole plan they had embarked on as 'ridiculous'. But the other option - a return journey through the tunnel of death - was not one England wanted to repeat.

"Prince Charming… come in Prince Charming… Frog Prince? Anyone?" England asked, his voice getting more and more desperate.

Nothing.

"Perhaps they are dead," Russia said mildly, digging around in the now empty box of fudge.

England ignored him.

"How in Franz Ferdinand's name are we going to get on that cable car anyway? The control room is above us. Call this a rescue mission. I would have been better off being rescued by the Italies…" Austria began moaning.

England sighed. The sulk had not lasted very long.

Austria was correct. They were actually perched just below the cable car control room. In fact they were perched several thousand feet up on a ledge not six feet long and not three feet wide. It was very cold, very windy and, with Russia in very close proximity, quite perilous.

One cable car was suspended just above them, unmoving. The other cable car was at the bottom of the mountain.

"I have a plan, so bloody shut up," England replied.

"We are not going to get in that control room," Austria pointed out. "And if we don't get in the control room how do we get in that cable car?"

Russia waved a lead pipe at him, "I can get us in there."

Austria moved his head back in time and slid off Russia's back. "This is unacceptable."

"Shut up!" England yelled and was shushed by Russia.

Russia put a finger to England's lips (it tasted of vodka and fudge) "Shush little England… there will be an avalanche…"

* * *

Above them…

"Did you hear something, fratello?" Italy asked his brother.

"If you're going to say you heard Pope Dave again, I'm going to kill you!" Romano replied angrily.

"No, I thought I heard England."

"You're an idiot, there is no Pope Dave and England isn't anywhere near us. But when he comes through that door, then we'll have him!" Prussia declared.

"Si but…"

"No buts and no 'si'." Prussia said.

"Don't call my brother an idiot," Romano said, squaring up to Prussia.

"Okay, he is a moron. And so are you!" Prussia replied.

"We don't have to stand here and take this!" Romano said.

"No, you don't. You can sit down and take it! Kesese!" Prussia laughed.

"I think England is going escape anyway and I think Russia is going to win the war and I also think Austria was right!" Romano said, all in one big rush, nose to nose with Prussia.

Prussia didn't back off. "You take that back! That aristocratic nobhead can never ever, in a thousand years, be right! Him and his Empire! Bunch of boring farts. Mozart this and Mozart that! They tried to crush my awesomeness!"

"Please stop shouting…" Italy stuttered.

"And you! You're a little idiot! Without you we'd have won this war by now. Going into North Africa to rescue you because you couldn't tie your shoelaces! You're a disgrace to soldiering!" Prussia rounded on the small Italian.

"Well… that's true, I suppose," Romano admitted, glancing at his brother. "I mean, come on Feliciano… you are pretty rubbish. We're not even allowed guns…"

"I'm going to go and tell Luddy…" Feliciano said and spun round in tears and stumbled towards the door.

He found it locked.

"It's locked!" he said, somewhat unnecessarily, Gilbert thought.

"Course it is and I have the key!" he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out… a sandwich.

"You won't open a door with that," Romano observed.

"Dammit…" Gilbert rooted about in his pockets, "Why do I have a bloody sandwich in my pocket?" he sniffed it. "It stinks too…"

"You've lost the key…" Romano stood looking at him with his arms crossed.

"I don't lose things!" Gilbert yelled at him and his monocle dropped out.

"So without the key, England and Russia can't get in!" Feliciano danced around in delight.

* * *

Beneath them, Russia said, "I don't need a key to get in a room," and swung his pipe threateningly.

"He still has my sandwich!" Austria was appalled.

England shook his head.

* * *

America's reactions were usually very good and normally he would of course have jumped in front of a woman to take the bullet. But France was of course no lady and America was distracted by his rumbling stomach.

There was also another reason why America didn't bother to jump in front of France. The gun Germany had fired was not a real gun.

There was a loud 'pop' and a comical stick popped out of the gun barrel and a piece of paper with 'bang' on it unfurled.

Germany sank to his knees and hung his head, "Bloody Italians!" he said in the voice of a man so far over the edge he couldn't even see it.

"Join us, Ludwig mon cher… eet eez the only way!" France said, holding out a hand.

Germany shook his head. "I only had one day off. One day!" he seemed to be talking to himself, but France and America glanced at each other, the former in some excitement, the latter with embarassment. "Just one day! I went over to the next valley for relaxation and… you don't need to know what I did… but I came back and do you know what I found…?"

"Er… yeah…" America ventured.

Germany continued, "I found half the castle collapsed, an out of control fire, Italians…" Germany took a big deep breath to centre himself, "Italians!" he yelled this word and then took a few more deep breaths, "Italians pouring petrol on a fire… what kind of people are they? And those two little idiots Saxony and Silesia running around… my brother had left them as guards! Guards! They couldn't even guard a shrubbery. And I know! And then I find Austria gone. The traitor! It's a relief in a way. It was… Emperor Francis wouldn't be so wasteful and Emperor Francis wore the same underpants for forty years so then there was me wearing 100 year old underpants. It's embarrassing having your cousin mending holes in your underwear. How can I be taken seriously as the General of an infantry division when I'm wearing darned socks? And don't get me started on my bloody brother… I swear he's a plant by the damned British to lose the war for us! And Austria… I'm glad he's gone…" Germany stopped his rant and looked up.

There was no-one there. America and France had, in America's words - 'hauled ass'.

* * *

Germany's thoughts on Austria were echoed by England.

"Will you please just shut up and stop moaning?" England told him.

"Well… I don't know why I bothered spying for you and, unless you didn't notice, risking my life and enduring unimaginable torture…"

"…and I can imagine a lot of torture!" Russia interrupted creepily. He threw the empty box of fudge down.

"Pick that up! Don't litter!" England said.

Russia picked up England by the neck, "Wut?"

"Nothing… this isn't my country so I really don't care… if you want to chuck things down the side of this mountain you knock yourself out!"

"Knock myself out?" Russia cocked his head to one side. He was about to throw England over the edge of the precipice when the cable car above them began to move.

* * *

Above them in the control room, the Italies and Prussia were fighting.

"I'm going to definitely tell my boss, your boss and Luddy!" Feliciano told Prussia.

"You're such a baby!" Prussia retorted.

"Stop calling my fratello a baby!" Romano said.

"Why whattya gonna do? Throw a pizza at me?"

Romano then launched himself at Prussia and they wrestled on the floor. Prussia used his most awesomeness strength, hauled himself up and tried to hit Romano but Feliciano jumped in front of him and waved his arms in the air, "No! Not my brother! I'll make you a nice cappuccino if you promise not to hit my brother!" he yelled. "With nice chocolate sprinklies on top and serve it with one of Mr Austria's left-over cakes that I don't like because they are too fancy but…"

Prussia lost his patience and pushed the shouty Italian straight into the control desk. The Italian's bottom hit the cable car controls and the cable car began to move…

* * *

"Quick! Jump on board!" England said to Russia and Austria.

"I can't possibly jump onto that! I have vertigo and…" Austria didn't get to finish his sentence as Russia took the decision for him and threw him on top of the cable car and followed him with a shout of 'Vodka!'

England jumped after them. He pulled out his walkie-talkie, "Prince Charming, come in Prince Charming, we are now on the cable car and…"

* * *

"Yo, this is Charming and we're on our way…" America panted as he and France ran through the castle towards the cable car control room.

"That was weird, wasn't it? With Germany?" America added to France.

France shrugged, he was carrying his stilleto heels in one hand and a gun in the other. "He eez young, ah oui… I never expected him to join us of course…"

"Yeah… whatever…" America said as they skidded around the corner.

"The cable car! Zay are leaving without us!" France pointed dramatically. "How will we ever get on board? We cannot just ask zem to stop!" He threw his shoes down in frustration.

"Leave it to me!" America said. He motioned to France to follow him to the open window and they looked down to see the cable car moving off.

Russia was waving to them enthusiastically. England looked up and motioned at them angrily. Austria appeared to be throwing up.

America dug around in his backpack and pulled out his climbing rope.

"I'm not going across on that," France said, tossing his blond head.

America shrugged, "You don't have to." He attached the rope to the wooden beam across the window, gave it a tug, appeared satisfied, tied one end around his waist, jumped onto the windowsill, pulled France up with him and prepared to jump.

Down below, England covered his eyes, "I just can't watch!" he said, horrified.

"I wish we had popcorn," Russia said in delight.

Austria vomited again.

France kissed America on the cheek, "Good luck!" he said and they jumped…


	11. A New Dope

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters do not belong to me and nor did I invent them - they are purely the imagination of Himaruya Hidekaz.**

 **Thank you for those who have reviewed, followed and favourited this story: Fikushon sakka, Cthe, LunaTheBlackWolf, Hetalia Banzai, Elric Gurl, Red-Hot Habanero, fanfictionfanatic 42, 4368Howard, Kate Marley, Pastaaddict, Silent Searcher, Mely Val, Magicflyingmintbunnies, Just a stereotype, Alternative Dragons, Cu-cu for cocopops, ShrapnelGirl, MysteriousKatlover, Irish Maid, Kadek-is-the-best, Quity190, nekohime15, ApplePajama & Pandoala.**

 **Where Idiots Dare**

 **Chapter 11 - A New Dope**

"I can't look, I just can't!" Austria said dramatically.

"Don't then," Russia said, looking only slightly interested while he finished off the sweets that were stashed in his piece of bathroom plumbing.

"Alfred!" England shouted in dismay.

The reason for the 'histrionics' as Austria would later call them (and he should know…) was America and France swinging onto the cable car.

America, holding onto France and with all the panache of a film star managed to slam into the side of the cable car and just hung there grinning moronically in at the occupants.

England turned to Russia and said, "Give me your pipe!"

"Why?" Russia looked dismayed.

"I need something with which to smash this window!"

Russia pointed at Austria, "Use his head," he said.

England had thought about this, but his orders were to bring in Triple X, or whatever the hell the spy was supposed to be called, unharmed.

"I can't, I…"

Russia picked up Austria as if he were a battering ram and was about to smash the window when America did it himself - by headbutting it. The American then leapt into the cable car as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

France was still clinging to him, "Ah Alfred! You are so strong!" he breathed.

America let go of him quickly, "Urgh…" he said. He hurriedly began wiping his mouth. "Jeez… I'll never get the taste off my mouth… I need a burger!"

"You are so rude!" France batted him ineffectually on the arm.

The cable car was heading down towards the bottom of the mountain and England was already trying to get his radio out. "Hamish.. I mean er Braveheart? It's Peter Pan! We got the idiot… I mean er… Triple… Double X or whatever… Rumpelstiltskin… we also got the code for when we get to the airstrip." Here England looked at France for confirmation.

"Oh mon dieu! I cannot believe it!" France exclaimed.

"Please tell me you haven't forgotten?" England asked.

"Hmmm mon cher? Oh I see… non… I have lost a shoe! Zis silly Amerique grabbed me roughly and…"

"It was awful…" America was telling Russia 'man to man'.

Russia stepped away from him, "Don't touch me," he growled.

England was about to beat France over the head with his radio receiver when he noticed with horror the other cable car passing them on its way back up to the castle.

"No…" he said, horrified.

"What?" America asked, pausing in his telling a horrified looking Russian about his dreadful journey through the castle with a drunk French transvestite.

"The cable car is going the other way!" England exclaimed.

"No we're not! We're going down," America pointed out.

"Yes, but that one's going up!" England said.

"So?" America asked.

"Da, so?" Russia agreed.

Only France seemed to understand the implications, "Oh non!" he exclaimed.

* * *

Meanwhile, Germany was not having a good day. In fact, he reflected that he was having an awful day. One of many awful days. He could pinpoint when it all went wrong - invading Russia had been a bad idea and obviously becoming allies with Italy ('BFFs') was the other. The fact that Germany had time to think at all was due to being stuck in a 6-foot deep hole.

The reason he was stuck in a 6-foot deep hole could be largely down to his other imbecilic allies - Saxony and Silesia.

After his stand-off with France and the horrifying revelation that he had quite possibly got smoochy with "that foppish twit", he had felt distinctly filthy and thought he would never feel like a man again. But, being Germany, he had told himself to pull himself together and only he, Germany, could sort this whole mess out.

He had headed down to the castle courtyard to rally the troops. And had promptly fallen into the hole he'd told Saxony and Silesia to dig.

"What in Gott's name?" he yelled.

"Sorry, boss…" Saxony said, lamely, but equally lamely continued throwing in dirt.

"You utter dummkopfs!" he yelled.

"Do you think we should help him out?" Silesia asked.

Saxony just nodded.

Germany dragged himself out before they'd even bent down to help him. "Both of you just… stay here… Don't do anything. Don't dig any more holes."

"Do you need us to help you stop the Allies escaping?" Saxony asked.

"No, definitely not. Don't do anything."

"Or help you stop that cable car from going down the mountain?" Silesia added.

Germany ignored them.

"Cos I think I can see England in that cable car, can you Silesia?" Saxony said.

"I would recognise those eyebrows from anywhere!"

"How can you see from here?" Germany yelled. (He seemed incapable of speaking at a normal volume.)

"Oh look! There's America and France!" Saxony continued, pointing up.

"He's not going to make it!" Silesia gasped as they watched America and France swing across to the cable car.

They all gasped, oohed and aahed.

Germany pulled himself together and headed off towards the castle with a determined look on his face. He raced up to the cable car control room, ignoring the claps and applause from the courtyard and slammed into the locked door.

"Open up, Gilbert!" he yelled.

"Hey, did you see America? He was really good! Just like a real hero!" Feliciano sounded excited. Even though he had his head in an armlock by Gilbert who was himself being punched in the head repeatedly by Romano.

"Get off my fratello!" Romano yelled.

"Nein! You are both stupid! You have ruined my plans for the last time!" Gilbert shouted.

"I'm glad Mr America and Big Brother France are okay!" Feliciano continued, oblivious to the fact that they were actually supposed to be the enemy.

"Shut up, fratello!" Romano shouted at him.

"Don't tell me to shut up, you shut up!" Feliciano looked as if he were going to cry. Again. He struggled against Gilbert's headlock and then gave up, slumping down.

Romano continued to rain blows on Gilbert's head.

Gilbert tried to ignore him.

This scene could have gone on for hours but for Feliciano suddenly saying, "Hey! I think I can hear Luddy!"

"Don't be stupido!" Romano growled.

"Yeah…" Gilbert grunted, trying to hit Romano.

They all paused in their hitting of each other. Feliciano paused in his whining as they listened.

"Open up! Bruder!" came the voice.

Gilbert dropped Feliciano and hurried to the door, flinging it open. "It wasn't my fault. The Italians are stupid. I told you we shouldn't be allies with them…"

Germany swept him aside and leapt into the cable car that had just arrived. "Send this one down and put the brakes on the other!" he ordered.

He then tried desperately to ignore Feliciano's waving and sobs. "You're so brave! I really hope Mr Russia doesn't tear your head off like he said he was going to when he saw you next, although Miss Belarus said she was going to stab you one thousand times. She really scares me… Oh he's gone…"

"Bye Potato Bastard," Romano muttered.

* * *

"It's Germany! He's coming after us!" America shouted. He sounded jubilant.

"So the code is…." England was still trying to give Hamish the required landing codes so their rescue plane could land.

"I broke a nail!" France whined.

"…I broke a…" England was repeating into the receiver. He realised his error and said, "No… wait… who?"

"It's Germany… coolio!" America yelled.

England did not think it was 'coolio' and said so. He turned round and saw the other cable car fast approaching on the adjacent cable line.

"Why is that one going faster than ours?" Russia asked.

"Because it's going downhill," America said confidently.

"Moron," England said, narrowing his eyes. "It's Germany alright. I bet they've slowed ours down. Put the brakes on, I think. I have no idea how these things work…"

"Austria, how does this thingy work? Is there any way to stop Germany catching us up?" America asked.

Austria shook his head, his face green.

America frowned and leaned through the broken window and looked down, "Is the brake down there? Can we release it?" he yelled at Austria.

Austria replied by throwing up on France's remaining shoe.

England sighed.

* * *

In the control room…

Gilbert, kesesing like a maniac, had pushed the lever for Germany's cable car to the limit and tried to the pull the lever for the Allied's cable car to the 'stop' position. He would have liked to have had his monocle and a cat on his lap just to complete the villainous look. But he didn't have time to find it (the monocle not the cat).

The first lever was now jammed in the 'on' position and Germany's cable car was whizzing down the line at a 'fair old clip' (England's words). Whilst the second cable car had slowed to a halt.

"Bwahahaha! We have them now!" Gilbert laughed evilly.

"Mind you when they get to the bottom what would they do anyway?" Romano pointed out, in a moment of lucidity. "They'll meet some Germany guards."

"Si! Not Italiano!" Feliciano nodded.

Gilbert agreed and picked up the radio to contact the control room at the bottom of the mountain and ensure that there were no 'Italiano' guards there.

* * *

"He's going to try to stop us!" England said, glaring at the approaching cable car.

"He is following me! He's obsessed with me!" France declared.

"Let him come!" Russia said with a growl and a horrid glint in his eyes.

"Hell yeah!" America agreed and tried to fist-pump Russia.

"Don't touch me," Russia growled. Again.

"Let's go kick some ass, men!" America yelled.

"Bleurgh!" Austria said, vomiting again.

Before England could stop him, America had slid open the door and nodding at Russia, who nodded back, they leapt out as Germany's car drew parallel.

England gasped as the two superpowers seemed suspended in mid-air 4000 feet up like two cartoon characters. Then, just as England thought they'd make it and America's hands scrabbled on the metallic surface of the other cable car's doors, they both tumbled into the void and the icy River Farting below.

"You rotter!" England gasped at Germany's triumphant villainous grin.

Germany leapt across the void with ease before England had formulated his next plan and with panther-like reflexes has his hands around England's throat.

"Help…!" England gasped at his two remaining allies as his throat was being squeezed.

"Could you stop making this cable car sway? It's making me ill!" Austria whined.

France ineffectually tried to bash Germany over the head with his handbag, spilling the contents over the floor.

England, seeing an opportunity, leaned over and grabbed blindly at the contents on the floor. A weapon. He needed a weapon.

He didn't get one. He picked up a lipstick and jammed it into Germany's eye.

"Aaargh!" Germany yelled, momentarily freeing England.

"France, where's your gun?" England asked.

France scrabbled about on the floor to find his gun, whilst England and Germany circled each other.

The radio on the floor buzzed, "Peter Pan are ye there? Ye big eejit? Have ye no got oot o' that bloomin' castle yet? I might as well have sent the Marx Brothers!"

"That's what I said!" Austria said, lying on the floor, holding his stomach.

England took up a boxing stance, "Come on then, Gerry, Kraut, er…" he stopped and thought of another insult, "… Mr Grumpy Pants. Put your fists up! I'll box you!"

"You couldn't box your way out of a paper bag," Germany said, matching his stance.

"Zere is no need to fight over me! I choose Arthur, I always did!" France declared but was still going through the contents of his handbag for his gun. "Ou est la revolver?" he muttered to himself.

"Looking good, Gerry-Kraut," England sneered, "Have you been working out? After all that rescuing of Italians in North Africa from my Desert Rat chappies?"

Germany sneered back, "You look dreadful, England. You look like a bag of spanners." (England was still wearing a tour guide uniform.)

"I don't care, at least my allies don't go off snivelling," England retorted.

France snivelled, "Oh mon dieu! My compact is broken!"

"…Apart from him…" England said with a sigh.

Germany hit him squarely on the jaw.

England reeled back, "I say! That was most unsporting!"

"This is war!" Germany answered and hit him again.

"Yes, but it's boxing!" England replied, stepping back and putting a hand to his now bleeding nose. He punched Germany back, landing a blow on the German's stomach and meeting rock-hard abs instead. "Damn… bloody fit Germans…" he muttered.

"Braveheart to Peter Pan! Do ye have the codes, yer wee eejit?" came a voice from the radio.

"Is that your brother?" Germany asked.

"Yes, it is," England grunted and landed an uppercut to Germany's chin.

Germany was momentarily stunned and stepped back. "Mein Gott…"

"Yes, if you scoundrels don't surrender soon, I'm going to send him over there in his kilt!" England threatened.

"Bonjour, zis is ze Frog Prince!" France said into the radio.

"Francis! You old tart!" came the reply.

Germany launched himself at England landed a few well aimed punched. England fell back gasping.

"Ze codes are…" France began to say and then said, "Oh Arthur! Allemagne! You are a big bully! How could you?"

For his part, Germany actually paused in his beating up of England.

"Is my brother getting his skinny white arse kicked?" Scotland could be heard saying with relish over the radio.

But the commentary on England and Germany's fight was not confined to the cable car.

"Hit him, bruder!" Prussia shouted from the control room.

"Come on tea bastard!" Romano yelled and was promptly hit by Prussia.

"Oh Luddy! I really hope you're okay. I'm really sorry for letting Mr England in but I really really did think there was Pope Dave in the castle. If you get hurt I will look after you, I promise. You can count on me!" Italy shouted.

Germany's eye twitched and he hit England again.

England fell to the floor this time and looked to be out for the count.

"Ha!" Germany said.

"Ze landing code for ze airstrip is 'Ludwig Beilschmidt Wears A Dress'", France said carefully.

"It's not true!" Germany yelled, red-faced, turning away from England.

"It wouldn't surprise me in the least," Austria muttered, still on the floor.

"You are all a bunch of reprobates! You Austria, are a snob. You, France, are a pervert. I will take you both back to Berlin where you will…" Germany began to say.

"…Tell Herr Hitler that his Nation wears a dress, ah oui," France completed for him.

Germany's face was scarlet and he was spluttering.

England got slowly to his feet and faced the German. One big blow was all he needed. And then he spotted Russia's lead pipe. The big idiot must have left it behind. He picked it up, weighing it in his hand and swung it.

As it happened, Germany, with far quicker reflexes than England would have guessed, ducked at that same moment and stepped back. But this was his undoing. He tripped and fell over Austria and went sprawling at the far end of the cable car.

England went over to the German and was about to batter him with Russia's pipe when there was a shout from the control room.

"England! I am your father!"

England looked up momentarily, saw Saxony and shook his fist at him.

Germany tried to reach up and grab him but was slapped ineffectually by Austria. It was such a weak slap that Germany barely registered it. However, it did enrage him.

"You're such a rubbish fighter! How and why did I ever have you as an ally? Even Italy hits better than you!" Germany yelled.

"Yay!" Italy yelled joyously and danced around, much to Gilbert's disgust.

Austria got up and began to rain insults down on the German, "Me allied with you? You have no idea that I've passed on you and your ridiculous Third Reich's battle plans, secret codes, locations of tank factories, and even how often Hitler changes his underpants and that wasn't pretty! And don't get me started on your incompetent brother. Prussia used to be a great fighter, the best there was, even if I hate him with all my Imperial heart but now he's nothing but a teaboy and a bad one at that! And you with your ridiculous snazzy uniform and your gelled hair. You need to grow up! Jumped up little…"

But Austria didn't get to finish as England grabbed him by the arm, grabbed France and threw them both through the open door.

Germany gasped, "Why did you do that? Are you a traitor?"

England grinned at him and bent down to help him up.

"What do you think?" England asked….

***To Be Continued***


	12. Little Red Riding Hood to the Rescue

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters do not belong to me and nor did I invent them - they are purely the imagination of Himaruya Hidekaz.**

 **Thank you for those who have reviewed, followed and favourited this story: Fikushon sakka, Cthe, LunaTheBlackWolf, Hetalia Banzai, Elric Gurl, Red-Hot Habanero, fanfictionfanatic 42, 4368Howard, Kate Marley, Pastaaddict, Silent Searcher, Mely Val, Magicflyingmintbunnies, Just a stereotype, Alternative Dragons, Cu-cu for cocopops, ShrapnelGirl, MysteriousKatlover, Irish Maid, Kadek-is-the-best, Quity190, nekohime15, ApplePajama & Pandoala.**

 **Where Idiots Dare**

 **Chapter 12 - Little Red Riding Hood to the Rescue**

England bent down to help Germany up. Germany grasped his hand.

"I knew it. I knew you had more sense than them," Germany said with a grin.

England nodded and then punched him out cold. He took one look around the cable car, picked up France's handbag and the radio and leapt out of the cable car door into the freezing water below.

"He got away!" Romano almost did a jig but saw Prussia's face and decided not to.

"Yay Mr England… oh no! Luddy-kins is hurt! I must go to him," Feliciano was watching all this with his nose pressed against the glass. "Can you bring the cable car back up here and I will bandage him up and put him to bed and nurse him better, Mr Prussia?"

"I'm not Mr Prussia!" Prussia yelled, feeling very annoyed.

"You're not? Are you Pope Dave?" Feliciano asked, genuinely confused.

"I'm Major Gilbert Beilschmidt! There is no Pope Dave!" Prussia yelled. "It's your fault and this Pope Dave business that got us into this mess!"

"I don't believe a Pope would ever get us into a mess. The Pope is a nice man, isn't he, Romano?"

Romano was grinning at all this, "Yes he is, Feliciano. You ignore the nasty German."

"Nobheads," Prussia muttered and pulled the lever to bring his brother back.

"Poor Luddy…" Italy wailed as the cable car approached and they could see the German was flat on his back.

"Ha!" Romano said.

"I will take care of you, bandage you, bring you pasta in bed and mop your brow and…"

"Shut up Italy, you moron! He's German. He's made of steel and iron, he's indestructible. A bit like me but not as tough as me…" Prussia interrupted him.

"No he's not! He's soft and fluffy like a bunny," Feliciano dived into the cable car as it arrived and cradled Germany's head in his lap. "My life will be forever in his service! I will nurse him til the end of my days…"

"Jeez…" Romano lit a cigarette and took a long drag.

Germany suddenly sat up with a start which made Italy fall over.

"Damned English…" Germany said. He had a black eye and a split lip and he looked very angry.

Feliciano tried to dab at his bloodied lip but was batted away by Germany who stood up and slammed over to his brother.

"Kesese! I can't believe you got beaten up by Arthur Kirkland! Oh man! Wait 'til I tell the guys!"

"I fell over Austria and then England pretended to help me up! I was hardly beaten up!" Germany protested. "Give me that radio, I will tell the troops to get them as they come out of the river…"

* * *

England was glad he could swim. He thought he was an excellent swimmer. He swam regularly in the local baths and had his fair share of soaking when in the Royal Navy. But the river was colder than the North Sea in December.

For a few moments he could do nothing but gasp at the icy cold and then, after taking several gulps of river water, he opened his eyes and looked around. He spied France, with what looked like a dead wet cat over his face, dragging a limp bedraggled Austria to shore.

France was also a good swimmer, England remembered. Mainly because the Royal Navy had sunk so many French Navy ships…

He swam towards them, the cold now making his bones ache and his legs numb.

"France!" he called out.

"Oh Arthur! You threw me in!" France yelled back. "Look at my wig! It is ruined," he gave a gasp, took in a load of water and almost dropped Austria.

Austria… England now remembered. Far too late. That the Austrian could not swim. Indeed, as he was going to be reminded over and over again, that the Austrian was afraid of water.

England paused, nearly sank with the load of the radio and France's handbag (what the bloody hell did that old tart have in the thing?) and then managed to haul himself towards them. He grabbed Austria's other arm and dragged him to the riverbank.

Unsurprisingly, in England's eyes anyway, France abandoned them, scrambled up the bank and stood there wringing out his skirt and blouse and trying to get his wig in order.

"A little help, please?" England shouted. He didn't know how much longer he could hold on to Austria. He'd been in the water for less than ten minutes and he was numb. Austria must be dead, he thought. That was the only reason he could think of as he was so silent.

"Oh mon dieu! Look at this blouse! It was ze best silk," France whined.

England's feet slipped again and again on the muddy icy bank and Austria was a dead weight under his right arm. "Help!" he gurgled.

He threw France's handbag, aiming at his head and missed.

Help came though from an unexpected source.

A small, delicate hand reached down and a feminine voice said, "Take my hand, Mr England. I'll help you out."

* * *

Later…

"Well, this is a bit more civilised, I must say," England said. He warmed his hands on the fire, drank some tea from a china cup and ignored France, who was whining that half his makeup was missing from his handbag. Ungrateful tart.

The fire had been built by Russia, who stood smiling creepily at them. For some weird reason, he was completely dry even though he had also swum the river.

America was kungfu-ing up and down.

Austria was flat on his back coughing up half of the River Farting.

But at least he was alive, England thought, somewhat ruefully.

"Ah Miss Zwingli, erm… thank you so much for aiding me in my hour of need," England said to the person stood to one side. "You are truly a sight for sore eyes."

Lily Zwingli, aka Liechtenstein, blushed. "Thank you Mr England but we really have to get going."

America stopped bouncing around, "Is Lily here our agent? Is she Agent Red Riding Hood?" America asked, wide-eyed.

"Shut up, America," England answered, "And stop bouncing around. You're making me dizzy."

"Someone should make sure Austria is okay," Russia pointed out.

"I will give him the kiss of life!" France said, with great relish.

"Don't touch me, you pervert," Austria said. "In fact, I don't want any of you to touch me. I've been through enough."

"Okay, then you'll have to get yourself moving," England said, handing his china cup to Russia.

Austria groaned on the snow. His face blue. Russia seemed to think about something and then threw a blanket over the Austrian. Whether this was to warm up the grumpy ex Empire or because Russia was fed up of looking at him, is unsure.

"Sorry, but Mr England, Mr France? We have to get moving…" Lily said.

France had readjusted his wig and was reapplying his makeup. "Ah oui, mademoiselle. But you have to understand, I have my image to consider."

"She's right, men, and I don't mean about France's image," England said (America winced at England's use of his word 'men') "The whole of the German army is about to descend on us."

"You said that earlier when we went into the village Farting," America said. He then blushed and said to Lily, "I mean we went into the village Farting. It was called Farting… we weren't actually… yer know…"

Lily ignored him, "No, everyone. We really need to get moving because it's a school night. I have to get home before brother realises I've gone and I still haven't done my homework for tomorrow," Lily explained.

"We can help you with that," America said confidently.

England stared at him open-mouthed.

Lily frowned, "Well I'm not sure about that."

Austria groaned under the blanket.

Russia picked up the Austrian, flung him over his shoulder, stamped out the fire and said, "Right let's go. I need to get back to my Baltics. I bet Lithuania and Estonia are missing me."

England shuddered.

They tromped off following Lily. "This way," she called. As if they were all on a school trip. "I got a vehicle just like you said, Mr England."

"Good girl," England said, trying to step round Russia who was walking in front of him and who was lurking just behind Lily.

"Is your homework about the Russian Revolution?" Russia asked her, looming over the small Nation.

Lily shook her head fearfully, "Erm no…"

A purple mist formed around the Russian, "Hmmm…" he hummed disagreeably and shifted Austria from his right shoulder to his left.

"Oh… when I said a vehicle, I expected something a little less er…" England tried to think of something to say that was less rude than 'what in God's green earth made you think this was inconspicuous, you stupid Germanic Nation?' but he couldn't.

"This is absolutely brilliant!" America yelled and jumped into the back of the vehicle.

Along its side was written 'Farting School Bus'.

"Why in God's name is it yellow?" England sighed finally as he watched his fellow Nations get on board.

"Are we going to school?" Russia asked.

"All Swiss school buses are yellow," Lily told England. "No," she added, answering Russia's question firmly.

Russia nodded, suddenly happy. "I didn't like school," he confided in America. "There were bullies around."

"Nobody bullied me when I went to school," America told him proudly.

Russia's eyebrows shot up, "I didn't know you even went to school."

"Of course he went to bloody school. I took him," England said grumpily, getting on the bus behind Russia. "He missed a lot of geography though because he was learning to be a Nation."

Russia shook his head at this. Whether this was at America missing geography or learning to be a Nation, the author is unsure.

Austria's head popped up from under the blanket, "Well that explains a lot!"

* * *

"We are never going to catch them in this!" Germany said. He sat in the front seat, cotton wadding shoved up his nose to halt the bleeding and a rare steak on his black eye.

"Well, we don't have a bloody choice do we?" Prussia replied.

"Everything will be okay, Luddy, you just see!" Feliciano all but sang, patting Germany's knee.

"I don't see why I should sit in the back with Beer Bastard. I called shotgun," Romano mumbled, glaring at Prussia next to him.

"This is crazy…" Germany sighed as Italy turned the key, started the engine and the vehicle wheel-spun and eventually set off.

They'd come down the cable car to the foot of the mountain and found the only vehicle capable of giving chase after the Allies…

"You'd better not damage this van, fratello," Romano called.

Germany held his head in his hands. "This is unacceptable!" he said again, for the thousandth time.

Prussia didn't say it out loud of course but he was sat in quiet awe of somebody - a person so 'heinous, devilishly cunning to take out all the spark plugs from the army vehicles', leaving them with the only vehicle roadworthy in the vicinity…

* * *

"And I took out all the spark plugs from all the army vans and cars just like Mr Scotland told me to do. It was really easy," Lily was telling them as she spun the school bus down the snowy lane.

The light faded fast and night had drawn its dark cloak over the mountain like a… cloak.

England nodded approvingly, "Good girl," he said. "But I really think that perhaps you should have let one of us drive."

"But not you, Arthur, you are a terrible driver! You drive on ze left!" France said from the seat behind him, breathing evocatively down his neck.

"I can't possibly drive, I'm far too shaken up," Austria said.

"I'll drive, hell yeah!" America yelled.

"I'm sorry, but only I'm insured to drive this bus," Lily told them. "I'll already be in so much trouble anyway for taking it."

"You mean you stole the bus?" Arthur looked quite amazed.

"Well, I borrowed it," she said, as she spun the wheel expertly on a patch of ice, round a corner and through the Village Farting. "Get down everyone…"

They all ducked down.

"Won't they be suspicious seeing the school bus at this time of night?" Arthur asked.

"This is also the postal van," Lily explained as they careered through the town.

"Yes, but won't they…" England interrupted.

"…and also the grocery delivery van…" Lily continued.

"But…" England tried again.

"And the local hospital bus," Lily said.

America was breathing on the glass and drawing what he thought were funny pictures in the condensation and pointing them out to Russia who was sat on the seat next to him.

"…They also transport psychiatric patients in it," Lily added, her eyes on the rear view mirror.

Russia moved seats.

"Alfred!" England shouted.

America ducked down quickly, "Hey! I didn't draw anything rude! But Francy-pants did. Look at what he drew!" he shouted.

"No, you have to stay down. Someone will see you… oh my God! Francis - that's disgusting!" England suddenly exclaimed when he saw the drawing in the condensation on the window behind him. "That's positively pornography!"

"Merci, mon cher," France purred and attempted to stroke England's head.

"Instead of messing around, you could make yourselves useful," Lily said through gritted teeth.

"Of course my dear. Where are the rifles? I presume there is extra ammunition? Do you want us to be ready for when the Germans come after us?" England asked.

"No, I want you to do my homework for me."

England laughed, "Hahahaha…. Very funny."

"You'll find it in that pink bag on the back seat."

"Oh," England looked deflated.

"Hell yeah! We'll help you, Frankenstein," America yelled.

"Not you!" Lily suddenly said.

"She's called Liechtenstein! You are very stupid," Russia said confidently.

"Hey! There's no need to be rude. I saw the film. Although to be honest she doesn't look like she was made by some mad scientist dude…" America shouted, deafening all around him.

Russia moved yet further from the American.

Probably the only person who could actually help Lily with her homework in a sensible manner, Austria, was laid on the back seat of the bus, still covered in a blanket. He put a hand to his forehead, "I can't possibly help. I'm still traumatised, Lily. This rescue mission will be the death of me."

Lily made the mistake of asking 'why' before England could stop her.

"Firstly, I won't even begin to tell you of the psychological trauma inflicted on me by Gilbert. And then these dolts burst into my cell. They insulted me, saying I was a princess…"

"That doesn't sound so bad…"

"And then I was dragged around that castle without any kind of plan at all. Russia tried to strangle me…" Austria began to tick off the litany of complaints.

England sighed.

France lit a cigarette languidly and then was tutted at by England, who pointed out the 'no smoking' sign above his head. "This is a school bus, you moron."

"So?"

"That means no smoking!" England hissed.

"…I fainted, was made to stand on a very draughty and cold ledge. I bet I have pneumonia…." Austria continued.

"Dude… we have company," America told them as they left the Village Farting and headed out onto the road leading to the airstrip.

"Will you stop saying that?" England asked, exasperated.

"They say it in all the movies!" America protested.

England jumped up and moved to the back of the bus to take a look.

"Well… Germany… I see you are really scraping the barrel with that!" England snorted to himself when he saw Germany glaring at him through the windscreen of the vehicle following them.

He picked up a rifle and loaded it and threw it at Russia, who caught it happily.

"Be careful of those rifles, they're my brother's," Lily warned them.

"Hey coolio! It's a pizza delivery van! This is just brilliant!" America was ecstatic.

* * *

Germany was not. He was certainly not 'ecstatic'. His face burned with shame. He was pursuing enemy insurgents in a pizza delivery van driven by what can only be described as the worst driver this side of the Western Front. This day would not end well, he thought. He would be right.

**To Be Continued**


	13. Homework and Pizzas

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters do not belong to me and nor did I invent them - they are purely the imagination of Himaruya Hidekaz.**

 **Thank you for those who have reviewed, followed and favourited this story: Elfqueen13, Fikushon sakka, Cthe, LunaTheBlackWolf, Hetalia Banzai, Elric Gurl, Red-Hot Habanero, fanfictionfanatic 42, 4368Howard, Kate Marley, Pastaaddict, Silent Searcher, Mely Val, Magicflyingmintbunnies, Just a stereotype, Alternative Dragons, Cu-cu for cocopops, ShrapnelGirl, MysteriousKatlover, Irish Maid, Kadek-is-the-best, Quity190, nekohime15, ApplePajama & Pandoala.**

 **Where Idiots Dare**

 **Chapter 13 - Homework and Pizzas**

England was old fashioned. So much so that he still believed that men drove better than women. He definitely changed his view as Lily flung the bus around corners totally indiscriminate about the depth of snow and kept them on the road. In fact the bus did not skid once. Much to America's disappointment.

"How can we help you, Miss Liechtenstein? I feel rather at a loose end." England asked.

Lily, who really didn't have time to tell England that his gasping every time they went around a corner was distracting her, merely nodded her head backwards towards the rear of the bus.

"You'll find it in my school bag."

"Guns? Ammo?"

"No, my homework. "

* * *

Italy was a fast driver as well. A subtle difference - although he was a fast driver, he was not a good one.

"Mein Gott!" Germany yelled - yet again, as the pizza delivery van skidded around a corner and they only just kept on the road. "This is intolerable!"

"Rubbish. Fratello is not going as fast as I do when I'm delivering pizzas," Romano said.

"I wonder who it is…?" Prussia ruminated to himself.

"What are you talking about?" Germany asked, his eyes closed as they took another hairpin bend at an ungodly speed.

"The dastardly cunning evil, despicable…. The person who took out all those vehicles… who was it?"

"I don't care…" Germany replied and then opened his eyes and wished he hadn't. "Watch out, Italy!"

"Que?" Italy looked straight at him and not at the road. "What's wrong, Luddy?"

"You nearly took out that horse and cart! What's wrong with you?"

"Whoever it is, is my hero…" Prussia muttered to himself.

"Who? The horse and cart?" Romano asked, nonchalantly chewing on yesterday's undelivered pizzas.

"Nein!" Prussia yelled in the confines of the pizza van, "The guy who sabotaged those vehicles.

"It could have been a girl," Romano mumbled. He offered Prussia a slice of stale pizza.

Prussia shook his head, both at the suggestion and the pizza.

Romano shrugged. He didn't care.

"I bet it was a pretty girl!" Feliciano said, turning round full in his seat so he could look behind them at Prussia. "Some of the German girls are really pretty but really scary!"

"Will you bloody watch where you're going?" Germany shouted, grabbing the wheel from Feliciano. "Do you want me to drive?"

"You can't drive this, potato bastard! This is our pizza van. It's our future when this horrible war is over!" Romano shouted, spitting pizza crumbs everywhere.

"Man!" Prussia was disgusted and brushed the crumbs from his burnt and smelly uniform.

Feliciano spun the wheel and actually opened his eyes, "Okay dokay, Luddy-kins! We'll go get the nasty England… He lied to me about Pope Dave so he deserves to be told off!"

"He will be tortured until he tells us everything!" Germany said.

"Oh!" Feliciano looked as if he were going to cry. "But…but… he was really nice to me when fratello and I captured him."

"He was nice to you?" Germany looked at him completely aghast.

"Si!" Feliciano grinned happily. "I mean we tried to be nice to him so…"

"You weren't supposed to be nice to him!" Germany yelled and then held his head in his hands.

He was soon roused from this when a hail of bullets hit the van.

"My van!" Romano yelled, utterly dismayed.

* * *

"They'll make a film about this one day," America said confidently as he reloaded his rifle.

"What do you mean? About the rescue of a double agent from the clutches of the Nazis from an Alpine castle and a daring escape through the snow?" Russia asked.

"No, about us doing Lily's homework," Austria replied, sucking on a pen and frowning over the books in front of him.

America shrugged and began firing again at the pizza delivery van behind them. "Hahaha! You should see Germany's dumb face! What a goon!"

"A 200 word essay on the causes of World War One… well, where do I start?" Austria said and began writing. "This pen is not very good. Lily? Do you have a fountain pen in your bag?"

"I'm a bit busy at the moment, Mr Austria…" Lily said through gritted teeth as she maneuvered the bus.

"Well… I must say…"

"It was some Duke person who got shot by a dude and then everyone piled in. My Pres Wilson took us in to save the world!"

"What in God's name are you wittering on about? What an absolute load of tosh!" England yelled.

"Eet was terrible, tres terrible…" France shook his head, tears in his eyes. "We all fought so bravely, together. Arthur and I in a trench together…"

"You can shut up!" England yelled.

Russia handed France a rifle.

"Merci, mon leetle Russie…" France purred and promptly fired at Germany as the pizza van gained on them.

"They're shooting at us!" Feliciano was appalled.

"We're at bloody war with them! Of course they're going to shoot!" Germany turned to his brother, "Hand me your gun!"

Prussia nodded, "But bruder… can you see who's driving the bus? I bet they are ones who sabotaged all our cars. I know England is rubbish with cars, America doesn't have the brains, Austria wouldn't know one end of a car from his arse… France is cleverer than he looks but he wouldn't want to break a nail… Russia… hmmm… but no, he would just wrench the engine out… I wonder who it is?"

"Will you just shut up about this person you supposedly admire so much? They are going to get away!" Germany shouted at him.

"There will be no shooting in this van! I need this van," Romano told him.

"Si! It was our grandfather's!" Feliciano agreed.

Germany stared at him, "What? How?"

"It's true!" Feliciano said, looking straight at him with a moronic grin on his face.

Germany was about to argue that there was no way that the Roman Empire had pizza delivery vans when their own pizza delivery van slid quite spectacularly on a stretch of ice, failed to go round the corner (even though Italy was actually steering into it) and carried on sliding straight into a ditch.

* * *

"Ha! Take that you suckers!" America shouted triumphantly. He turned to Russia, "That was my bullet that was that did that!"

Russia frowned, he had no idea what America was actually saying and the American's shouting was giving him a headache. He was also annoyed that he wasn't going to get the chance to pull Germany's head off.

"You mean, it was your bullet that precipitated that crash?" England said. "Use proper English, Alfred."

"Hell yeah!"

Austria gritted his teeth, "I'm not sure how I can possibly finish this essay with all this noise and disruption…'and it was the end of the great and glorious Austro-Hungarian Empire'," he muttered as he wrote.

"How far to the airport, Miss Liechtenstein?" England asked.

"About fifty kilometers, Mr England."

England sighed. Damn foreigners. "How far in miles?" he asked again.

Lily glanced at him. "We'll be there in about twenty minutes," she answered. "Providing we don't get any more interruptions."

Austria picked up another book, "Geography…"

"I'll do this one!" America said, snatching it from him. "Right…" he was handed a pencil by Austria. "…Atlas skills…" America read out loud.

England dived across the bus and snatched the book from him, "I don't think so."

Russia plucked the book from England, "I will do this," he said. "Lines of latitude and longitude… tropics and the meridian…" he read out. He began writing with a look of intense concentration.

"Jeez man…" America muttered.

Lily pulled up the bus and turned to them, "We need to put up some obstacles now we have chance before they come after us again."

"Yeah right…" America cast around the bus and picked up Austria.

"Hey! Put me down you big oaf!" Austria batted him ineffectually on the arm.

"Not Mr Austria!" Lily said in exasperation.

"Oh right… yeah…" America dumped the Austrian and picked up France instead.

"She means with this…" England reached into Lily's school bag and produced a few sticks of dynamite, fuses and matches.

"Oh wow! That is brilliant!" America's mouth gaped open and he dumped France - who had enjoyed being in America's arms.

* * *

Tying sticks of dynamite along with timed chargers around trees behind the parked bus should have been a simple and easy thing to do, England thought. But America made it very complicated and along with shouts and instructions from the bus, England honestly thought about giving himself up to Germany for torture and interrogation. It would be far less painful.

"Is this high enough?" America yelled from atop the tree.

He's like a bloody monkey, England thought. "You don't need to climb all the way up the bloody tree!"

"You didn't say that! You said…"

"I didn't say climb up the bloody thing!"

"You said we have to bring the tree down…"

"You don't need to climb up to the top to do that."

"Chuck me some 'mite up!"

"No! Wait… what? You climbed all the way up there without the bloody dynamite?"

"Kinda."

And then this from France: "England, come and tell Russia, you can't write 'sunflower' for every answer for Lily's geography homework!"

"Shut up everyone!" England yelled.

"Hurry up, Mr England! I think I can see them coming! Or something is…" Lily shouted.

"Alfred! Get down here!" England shouted and tied the dynamite around the tree trunk and set the timer. Hopefully, the explosive would blow the tree down across the path blocking their pursuers.

America did get down. He jumped. Landing on top of England.

"Ooof! You bloody great big clumsy oik!" England shouted, hitting him.

"I sure am!" America grinned.

England shoved him towards the bus, "Get on the bloody bus while I finish up here," he said, glancing back. He could see headlights in the distance. "Can someone cover me?" he called and then hurriedly said, before someone could throw a blanket at him, "I mean cover my ass with bullets," he said and then realised what he had said, "Not literally though!" he quickly added.

Only Russia seemed to have listened to him and was already loading a machine gun.

America leapt onto the bus in what he thought was an epic style. Russia passed him Lily's school bag. "You can do the maths homework," Russia said.

America nodded. He raised an eyebrow - not at the sums therein, but the answers Russia had given in the geography homework sheet.

"Wow…" America muttered.

Russia smashed out the back window of the bus and set up the machine gun.

"Why did you do that, Mr Russia? I'm supposed to return this bus back in the same condition I found it!" Lily asked, exasperated.

"I'm going to give England covering fire," Russia replied.

France nodded and joined Russia and took aim with his handgun.

"Isn't that a ladies' gun?" Russia asked France.

"Oui," France answered as they watched England place hooked trip wires across the road behind them. "I stole it."

Russia had no reply to this but cleared out the broken glass and adjusted the sight of his rifle and peered through it at the approaching vehicles. He blinked and turned to France.

"Have a look through this. Is that what I think it is?" he asked France.

France flicked a stray blond hair out of his eyes and peered through the rifle sight. "Hmmm… oh… I can see leetle Allemagne but what is he on? Oh mon dieu! Zis eez so funny! Autriche! Come and see this! You will laugh I am sure!"

"I hate you all so much…" Austria moaned. "Nobody cares that I was almost drowned by that English hooligan. He threw me in that river and he knows I cannot swim!"

"Yeah dude… If a boy buys 12 bananas at fifty schillings each then… wait… what's a schilling? What kind of a question is this?" America muttered, chewing on a pen and staring at the math homework sheet.

"I would never pay that for a banana. Outrageous," Austria said, lying back on a bus seat, a damp flannel on his eyes. He could feel a migraine coming on.

"Yeah… this is boring," America muttered. "I'll draw my answers instead."

* * *

Germany gritted his teeth and clung to Feliciano's waist for dear life. He ignored his brother's leery grin and Romano shaking his fist at them.

"My van! My beautiful beautiful van…" Romano said and flung himself to the ground next to his wrecked van and beat the ground.

Germany had no time to say or do anything. A few German troops had caught up with them riding motorcycles and much to Germany's combined dismay and horror, Feliciano had requisitioned one saying that he could ride one. That he was 'proficient' and that he 'used them all the time in Verona'.

Clearly though, Germany was to find to his cost that Italy did indeed use motorcycles but the ones he was more accustomed to, were far less powerful than the Germany Army issue.

Germany would have screamed if he wasn't so manly. Or if his brother hadn't been riding a motorcycle alongside him.

"Kesese! This is great isn't it? We'll soon catch up with them!" Prussia yelled across to him.

Germany did not think it was 'great'. He thought motorcycles were incredibly unsafe, particularly with an idiot Italian in charge steering it. Or, in Feliciano's case, not steering it.

Feliciano turned to look behind him, "Luddy! Isn't this great? We should catch up with Mr England very soon. I will tell him off for lying to me about Pope Dave. And I really like that you have your arms around me!"

"Please look where you're going," Germany muttered. His life had already flashed before his eyes several times. Being on the Eastern Front fighting the Soviet Red Army would be less dangerous than this, he thought. He clung on for dear life. "And please wear a safety helmet," he begged.

"Ciao!" Feliciano couldn't hear him, he waved at the German soldiers behind them. "This is so much fun!"

"We. Are. At. War." Germany said through gritted teeth.

"I know!" Feliciano replied. "You need to calm down, Luddy, everything will be okay." Feliciano said breezily and sped off as if they were on their way to the beach.

"What about my pizza delivery tonight?" Romano shouted after them.

* * *

"Here they come!" Russia shouted.

"We have company!" France said.

"That's my line!" America said, throwing the homework on the floor, trampling it and hurrying over.

"Oh Allemagne… you are so funny… he looks like he is dying inside…" France purred.

England finished tying the tripwires around the telegraph poles, stuck another stick of dynamite at the bottom of a tree and hurried back to the bus.

"Oh I'm glad you're back," Lily said.

"Why, thank you, Miss Liechtenstein," England said. "At least someone cares about me."

"No, I mean… you can redo the homework Mr America did."

"Oh."

The bus set off again. America, moronically rang the bell.

Russia and France bravely fired at their pursuers. Despite the fact that they weren't even in range.

"For goodness sake! You can't just draw answers for quadratic equations!" England shouted at America.

"What!" Lily shouted and abruptly stopped the bus, slamming on the brakes so hard everyone fell over.

France landed in Russia's lap, who blushed and threw him off.

England's pen scrawled a long line across Lily's homework.

Austria fell to the floor.

Only America seemed to keep his feet. "Whassup?" he asked.

"Right, everyone! I want my homework done properly or we're going nowhere!" Lily said, switched off the engine and sat with her arms folded.

England ran to the back of the bus and watched in horror as a clutch of motorcycles approach.

"Damn and bloody blast… Give me that sodding homework. French? Oh bugger…"


	14. Casablanca or Bust

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters do not belong to me and nor did I invent them - they are purely the imagination of Himaruya Hidekaz.**

 **Thank you for those who have reviewed, followed and favourited this story: TheWinchesterPony, Elfqueen13, Fikushon sakka, Cthe, LunaTheBlackWolf, Hetalia Banzai, Elric Gurl, Red-Hot Habanero, fanfictionfanatic 42, 4368Howard, Kate Marley, Pastaaddict, Silent Searcher, Mely Val, Magicflyingmintbunnies, Just a stereotype, Alternative Dragons, Cu-cu for cocopops, ShrapnelGirl, MysteriousKatlover, Irish Maid, Kadek-is-the-best, Quity190, nekohime15, ApplePajama & Pandoala.**

 **Where Idiots Dare**

 **Chapter 14 - Casablanca or Bust**

Sweat formed on England's brow as he worked. The fate of the free world rested on his shoulders. He could do this, couldn't he?

Oh God, he couldn't. He really couldn't. His eyes blurred and he felt panic coming on.

The instructions were in German. "Eins, zwei, drei…" England muttered. It was the only German he knew.

France snatched the homework from him, "Give it to me, Angleterre," France tutted, "I will do zis. You are terrible…"

"Merci," England said weakly. (Pronouncing it as 'mercy' at which point France shuddered visibly.)

Lily was too busy arguing with America to notice that her French homework was being written by France, of all people.

"I can drive this bus. Pleeeeeease," America wailed.

"No, you can't. I told you, only I'm insured for it."

"But you're a…" America paused. He didn't want to say 'girl' and appear sexist or was it 'sexy'? To the others but on the other hand…

"I will drive. I am good at driving in snow and ice," Russia interrupted. (In actual fact, he was. It was in other conditions, normal conditions, that he had a problem.)

"Ah l'amor…" France muttered to himself, scribbling in the homework book. This should have caused consternation, but it didn't.

The Allies were too busy arguing about who should be driving, particularly as a group of motorcycles was fast approaching.

"Erm… hellooooo?" Austria said from his prone position on a seat. "I think, people, that you need to do something about those scoundrels who are catching up with us."

"You should give me the keys, because I'm the hero!" America was saying.

"No, you should give me the keys because I am the biggest Nation!" Russia countered.

"Will you both just calm down? Lily would you mind just starting the engine and getting us to the airport, please?" England said.

"Excuse me?" Austria tried again.

"Shut up for a minute, will you? Stop bloody moaning. We know you're wet and ill and all that, but we have a problem here…"

"Oh I'm a problem am I?" Lily said, standing up and glaring at the three male Nations looking back at her.

America fidgeted and looked down at the ground and then at England.

England scrunched up his nose and then wriggled a bushy eyebrow.

Russia frowned, a purple mist forming around him. Normally, this would be enough for most Nations to hurriedly do whatever the big Nation wanted. Not this time. Lily stood her ground. "Is my homework being done?" she asked.

"Oui!" came France's voice.

But before Lily could be outraged, Austria said, "Sorry to butt in. But they are nearly here!"

"Oh for God's sake!" England exclaimed.

And then there was an explosion, the bus rocked and a tree fell down, narrowly missing them.

Lily leapt back into the driver's seat and started the engine, pulling the bus away as England, America and Russia rushed to the back and stared out. (America press the bell as he went past.)

"Hahahaha! Look at Germany's dumb face!" America yelled and turned to give England a high-five.

England misconstrued and awkwardly shook America's hand. "Yes, he does look rather unhappy, doesn't he?" England agreed.

"I would like to kill him," Russia said, bending a piece of bathroom plumbing into the shape of a triangle.

* * *

Germany was shaking his fist at them. Italy was clinging to him with a distraught look on his face, looking at the tree trunk lying across the road.

And then the most glorious thing happened. Prussia, who was clearly 'kesesing' his way behind them, rode straight into the tripwire and was catapulted clear into the air.

"All we have to do, Luddy, is get this tree trunk out of the way…" Italy whined and began ineffectually shoving at the trunk, which must have weighed a hundred times more than his own skinny little frame.

'Luddy' ignored him. He watched instead as his brother, still on his motorbike, went sailing quite spectacularly over his head, having run straight into England's wire.

"I should be in the bloody circus, man!" Gilbert yelled as he landed some feet away - at the other side of the tree trunk. Amazingly, he was unhurt and the motorcycle's engine was still running. He sped off, doing a wheelie as he did so.

'Luddy' was not happy. He turned to the rest of the German soldiers on motorbikes who had all halted behind them. "Well? What are you waiting for? Let's get this obstruction out of the way!" he yelled.

One of them went to pick up Italy to move him. It might have been Saxony. Or Silesia. Whoever it was, was wailed at by Italy, who continued to try to shove the tree trunk out of the way.

"I meant the tree trunk!" Germany yelled at his soldiers and then turned to Italy, "Come on, Italy… I mean er…" here Germany hesitated to use his human name as Italy seemed to see this as a term of endearment and Germany didn't do endearments. "Feliciano… er Private Vargas." He was actually amazed Italy held the rank of private, despite it being the lowest one. If there could be a lower rank, Italy would be on it, Germany decided.

Italy slumped to the snowy ground. "And I only joined the army for you, Luddy," the Italian said. "And the pretty girls…" he added, bizarrely.

But thankfully, Germany wasn't listening, "Someone get hold of a tractor and ropes to pull this tree out of the way…" he shouted.

"I can just ride mine around it!" Italy yelled joyously and jumped on his motorbike. "Ciao!" he shouted and headed off.

"No! Feliciano!" Germany yelled.

A dozen Germans, including Saxony and Silesia, who both were watching all this as if it were a comedy film, observed as Italy skidded around the tree trunk and straight into a ditch.

"That's why England picked this tree," Germany said.

"Boss?" it was Silesia. He actually held his hand up amongst the commotion of over a dozen Germans running off to find a tractor.

"What?" Germany yelled as he helped a mud-covered Italy out of the ditch.

"Why don't we just lift the motorbikes over the trunk?" Silesia asked. He then turned and grinned at Saxony and, probably channeling America a few miles away, high-fived him.

"Why did I not think of that?!" Germany yelled. "Mein Gott, I must be getting stupid," he added.

"Oh Luddy, you saved me!"

"It's you! Every extra moment I spend with you, my IQ drops," Germany accused the Italian.

Germany was seriously wondering if he could possibly apply for another day's holiday.

* * *

"Come in Airport Farting, come in Airport Farting….Ludwig Beilschmidt wears a dress, I repeat, Ludwig Beilschmidt wears a dress," England was speaking into the radio.

"Hahaha! He sure does!" America yelled.

"Shut up, you idiot! We can't let them think there's a bunch of Americans here," England hissed at him.

"I always thought there was something about him," Russia muttered, stroking his lead pipe with a dreamy look on his face.

"Yes, well…" England preferred not to go into that.

"Eeet eez ze code for ze landing," France explained, lifting his head.

"Oh look here comes Pru!" America yelled excitedly as Prussia approached them on his motorbike. "Do we have to shoot him? He still owes me 50 dollars from a poker game."

England glared at him, "We're at bloody war with him and yes you do. Wait a minute, 50 dollars? Poker game? When was this?"

"We didn't invite you, cos we know you'd disapprove," America brushed it off.

England shook his head, and turned to the radio, "I repeat the code for the landing plane is 'Ludwig Beilschmidt wears a dress'". England was satisfied by an affirmative from the radio operator in the airport tower and he grinned.

"It was before the war," America explained to Russia.

Russia glared at him nonetheless.

"Right, we're good to go. Our plane should be landing any minute," England told them.

"Ah mon ami…" France said languidly shoving the homework sheet back in the bag. "Eet has been so much fun."

"Really? Fun? You think so, do you?" Austria said, suddenly sitting up.

"Oh God…" England muttered.

France threw another homework sheet at him, "You can do zis one, mon ami. Eet eez Engleesh grammar…"

"Spiffing!" England said, taking out a pen with a flourish from his tour guide uniform.

France snorted in derision.

"Yo! Pru!" America yelled out of the back window at Prussia, "Yer can't catch us, we're going to catch a plane and… ooof!"

The 'ooof' was a result of Russia batting him around the head.

"What was that for?" America asked.

Russia shook his head and was about to say something.

"For telling ze silly leetle Gilbert what our plans are," France explained, "Wasn't it, Ivan?"

"No, I hit him because I wanted to," Russia said and then added, "And don't call me Ivan."

Obviously, Prussia did not appreciate being called 'Pru'. America remembered too late that Gilbert hated that nickname. He liked being called Prussia, Gilbert, Gil or Awesome One, but never ever 'Pru'.

He was now edging up close behind them and brandishing a rifle.

"Surrender!" he yelled.

"Hahahaha! This is hilarious! One man army telling us to surrender," America thought this was funny.

"We're coming into the airport now. Can you all get ready to get off the bus?" Lily asked them. She looked harassed. She was also looking forward to getting rid of them.

She skilfully drove the bus straight towards the security wire fence and rammed it head on.

"Bloody hell!" England yelled as he fell flat on his back.

"This is great!" America shouted.

Russia nodded. The only one to keep on his feet.

Lily kept on. They could see an plane circling above them.

"Do you think that's for us?" America asked England.

"No, it's for the Grimethorpe Colliery Band's World Tour!" England exclaimed and then seeing America's face, he sighed and said, "Yes, it is."

"But it's got German thingy-ma-jig signs on it."

"It's camouflage, you idiot." England replied. "Besides I can see my bloody brother flying it." He could - the shock of red hair from the pilot could be seen even from where he was standing.

"Yay! Uncle Hamish!" America shouted. He looked excited. "He always gives me sweets and advice," America said to Russia.

Russia did not look interested.

"I never understand the advice though. It's usually something about wearing skirts and respecting another man's sporran."

Russia ignored him.

"Russia, what's a sporran?" America asked the older Nation.

Russia moved away from him.

"Right, everyone, get ready to leave the bus," Lily ordered as she pulled alongside the runway. She pressed a button and the doors slid open.

But just behind them was Gilbert and behind him was his brother and 'half the German army' (England's words). Less worryingly was Italy, Saxony and Silesia.

America jumped off the bus and rolled epically before England had asked him to jump.

"Damned American…" England muttered and jumped after him.

"Oh I see, we're supposed to just jump off are we? Well, I'm not doing that. I'm already injured and…" Austria didn't get to finish as Russia gave him a shove.

Russia jumped after him, yelling "Vodka!" at the same time. He was disappointed however, that the drop was only twelve inches and the bus had slowed so much he merely rolled into a large mound of snow. And Austria.

"Ow! You landed on top of me!" Austria whined, trying to get up. Which was difficult with a large 200 pound Russian pinning him down.

"I did!" Russia agreed, standing up and helping the Austrian to his feet.

Only France remained on the bus.

Lily slowed the bus down, "Mr France, you need to get off now. I have to go home!"

France sighed and jumped. "Ah poo!" he exclaimed.

"Bloody French idiot…" England said, running for the plane as a hail of bullets whizzed over their heads.

In actual fact, France was an accomplished parachutist. The reason for his reluctance was soon apparent:

"I've laddered my stockings!" he whined.

The plane's rear cargo doors opened and America leapt on board and was already haranguing his 'Uncle Hamish' for sweets. Russia threw Austria in and jumped in behind him.

England wavered and turned to France who was still some 100 yards away, "Come on, Francis!"

"Wait for me, Angleterre!" France shouted. He turned round, finding himself facing Germany, Prussia, Italy (who shrank against Germany), Silesia and Saxony and 'half the German army'.

"Wait for me, Austria!" Silesia shouted. (Everyone stared at him.)

England hesitated, a bullet whizzed over his head, "I say!" he said, appalled. "That's just not cricket!"

"Angleterre, you go on," France said. "I will hold zem off."

"You can't!" England said.

"Yes, I can," France said, dramatically. "If that plane leaves the ground and you're not with them, you'll regret it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life."

"What?" England looked confused.

"We'll always have Paris!"

"What?" England repeated.

"Kiss me, kiss me as if it were the last time!" France said, puckering his lips.

"Oh bloody hell! I'm off… bloody nutty frog," England said, and jumped into the plane.

France nodded, satisfied. He turned to the Germans now fast approaching. "I am not afraid," he declared. "But if you zink for one moment that I will come quietly then you are very much mistaken!

"Kesese! Bloody Francis! Have your friends left you, have they? Aw poor you…" Gilbert mocked.

"At least I have friends," France said, watching the plane soar up into the sky, a tinge of regret on his handsome face.

"I have friends! Tell him, bruder. Tell him. I have friends!" Gilbert raged.

"So do I!" Italy cried.

"No, you don't. Your brother and my brother don't count," Prussia told him.

"Shut up, both of you! France, you are under arrest for being a spy!" Germany said, approaching the Frenchman warily.

"Ah leetle Allemagne. I am so much more than zat!" France said languidly, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. "You know what I mean," France winked.

"What does Big Brother France mean, Luddy?" Italy wailed.

But 'Luddy' didn't get to explain when the school bus pulled up and Lily got out. "Oh God! Mr France you were supposed to be on that plane," she admonished.

"I know… I failed…" he said sadly.

"You! Miss… Miss… Liechtenstein?" Germany stared at her.

"Yes, me…" she smiled bitterly. "It was me who rescued them, who drove the bus and sabotaged your army cars. I forgot about the bloody motorbikes."

"Oh. My. God." Prussia for once was speechless.

"Are you going to arrest me?" Lily asked, her hands on her hips.

Germany considered his options.

Lily and France were surrounded by German guns. But both seemed unperturbed. In fact both looked positively defiant.

"Yes, yes I am!" Germany declared.

The guns around Lily and France all lifted and were aimed at the two Nations. Lily sought out France's hand and squeezed it.

And then help arrived from a very unexpected source….

"Get your hands off my sister!"

 **To be continued… Last chapter coming up soon folks.**

 **Apologies to that fine film Casablanca...**


	15. Escape to Lunacy

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters do not belong to me and nor did I invent them - they are purely the imagination of Himaruya Hidekaz.**

 **Thank you for those who have reviewed, followed and favourited this story: TheWinchesterPony, Treebrooke, Elfqueen13, Fikushon sakka, Cthe, LunaTheBlackWolf, Hetalia Banzai, Elric Gurl, Red-Hot Habanero, fanfictionfanatic 42, 4368Howard, Kate Marley, Pastaaddict, Silent Searcher, Mely Val, Magicflyingmintbunnies, Just a stereotype, Alternative Dragons, Cu-cu for cocopops, ShrapnelGirl, MysteriousKatlover, Irish Maid, Kadek-is-the-best, Quity190, nekohime15, ApplePajama & Pandoala.**

 **Where Idiots Dare**

 **Chapter 15 - Escape to Lunacy**

"You can't bully us!" Gilbert yelled.

They were surrounded. By Vash Zwingli. And he didn't look happy.

"I'm really really really sorry, Uncle Switzy," Italy said quickly.

Switzerland's eye twitched. He did not like being called 'Uncle Switzy'. The Swissman adjusted his aim from Gilbert to Italy.

"I never did anything," Italy continued. "I really didn't. I was just looking for Pope Dave!"

"There is no Pope Dave! How many times do I have to tell you?" Germany yelled at the Italian.

The rifle turned to point at Germany.

"Bruder, honestly, I can explain," Lily began to say but nobody was listening.

"Anyway, what are you going to do, Switzy? There are…" here Gilbert paused and began to count, gave up at 30. Besides who needed to count past 30? and said, "There's at least 30 of us and just one of you."

"You're right. You're at a disadvantage," Switzerland said but didn't lower his rifle.

"You see we were just about to…" Germany began.

"Say goodbye after swapping notes!" Lily said.

"What?" Germany said.

"What?" Prussia asked.

"Que?" said Italy.

Switzerland turned to her. "You weren't supposed to be out," he said.

"Homework club," Lily explained.

"Homework club?" Vash repeated. He had still not taken his eyes off Germany or Prussia, both of whom he disapproved of completely.

"Yes, bruder. That's where I've been," Lily said.

"Yes, that's where she's been," Germany said defeatedly, feeling the chance of interrogating her for spying slipping away from him. But then he said triumphantly, "But not this reprobate!" he then went to grab France, who side-stepped smartly out of the way.

"Mr Germany!" Lily hit him on the arm. "That's my friend from school, Marianne!"

"Nein!" Germany was about to protest.

"Yeah dude… uncool," Prussia grinned.

"Eet eez alright. We will go on a date another time, non?" France winked suggestively.

Germany blushed deep crimson.

"This is hilarious," Saxony muttered to Silesia.

"Ja!" Silesia agreed. His earlier disappointment at not being able to go with Austria fast wearing off.

Switzerland pointed his rifle at Saxony and Silesia who both quickly quietened and then back at Germany.

"Homework club eh?" Switzerland asked, looking suspicious.

Prussia nodded.

Italy shook his head, was nudged and then nodded quickly like a nodding dog.

Germany just stared back at Switzerland.

Switzerland came right up to Germany until they were toe to toe. "I don't like you, Germany," he said very quietly. "There's only him," here he nodded at Prussia, "And him…" he nodded at Saxony (who consequently went red) "… and Austria and France who I dislike as much as you."

Germany looked flustered but didn't look away.

"I like you, Luddy," Italy whispered, standing unnervingly close to him.

Switzerland continued, "…But if I ever find that you and your little band of degenerates had harboured thoughts of harming my little sister then I will end you."

France was about to light a cigarette but was nudged by Lily, so he quickly put it away.

Switzerland then turned and walked away to his armoured vehicle. "Come on Lily," he called over his shoulder.

Germany went to grab France again. But France gave a 'feminine' squeal so high-pitched that everyone's ears were ringing. "Oh Mr Beilschmidt! I'm not that kind of girl!"

"Bruder! Can we give my friend Marianne a lift home as well?" Lily asked.

"School friend? Jeez he's at least 500 years older than me," Gilbert muttered.

"And it shows," Silesia whispered knowingly to Saxony.

France shot them a look.

Switzerland turned and nodded.

Lily grabbed France's hand and they both skipped to the Swiss Army car.

But as France and Lily jumped into the vehicle, a piece of paper fluttered from Lily's school bag.

Saxony jumped on it. It was snatched from his hands by Germany.

"It's a code! It must be… a list of letters and numbers… I'll send it to Berlin!" Germany cried, holding it up as if it were the holy grail. He smiled, the first smile in a long long time.

"Let me see. I bet I can figure it out!" Feliciano said, trying to peek at it.

"You think you can figure it out?" Germany looked at him, aghast. "This is going to the top codebreakers in Berlin. This could be what breaks the Allied codes. This piece of paper I hold in my hand could be the end of the war and bring about the fall of Britain!" Germany cried.

"I bet it's a soppy love letter or something from that Marianne," Silesia said.

"Idiot!" Saxony said, hitting his 'brother' ex-Nation/principality around the head. "Don't be stupid of course it's not. Marianne didn't love him!"

Gilbert hit them both, "There is no Marianne!"

As they all leapt out of the way as Switzerland drove straight at them, Gilbert called, "Wait! Lily! Was it you who… you know…?"

Lily wound down the window and shouted, "You mean was it me who sabotaged all those army vehicles, taking out all the starter plugs?"

Prussia nodded, his mouth agape.

Lily just smiled and closed her window.

"You're my hero!" Prussia called after her.

* * *

In the plane, the mood was despondent. At least for some:

"That was a pretty bad show chaps," England said, gloomily pulling off his tour guide uniform and putting on an RAF uniform.

"I cannae believe yer left Frenchie!" Scotland berated them from the cockpit. He staggered back towards the rear of the plane. Thankfully he wasn't the pilot.

But for some, the mood wasn't so despondent, "At least we are going home. It is a shame about France, and I expect he's being tortured now…" was Russia's contribution to the discussion. He then went on to describe in great and glorious detail the possible tortures France would be subjected to.

Austria, who had said nothing, threw up. All over England's new uniform.

"I say!" England exclaimed. "I mean, really? Honest to God, you have been as much use as a chocolate teapot today, Austria. If you weren't supposed to be such a bloody good secret agent, I would have ditched you back in that castle," England finally exploded.

"Da," Russia agreed.

"Well, isn't that just lovely?" Austria said, sitting up, wiping his mouth. "I've been insulted, half strangled, half drowned, subjected to the most appalling humiliation and privation ever known to man or Nation!"

Scotland was staring at him closely.

Austria, emboldened by an audience, continued, "And they had no serviettes!"

"Oh, will you give it a bloody rest!" England shouted.

"If it weren't for me, Germany would have killed you in that cable car. I helped you get away!" Austria shouted back.

"He tripped over you!" England responded.

"I still stopped him, it doesn't matter how," Austria hit back.

Scotland was still staring at him intently.

Austria looked back at him, "Why are you staring at me?" he asked eventually.

"Are you Agent XXX?" Scotland asked.

"Well… technically… I'm actually Agent Mozart," Austria said, polishing his nails.

"Agent Mozart! That's a bit bloody obvious isn't it?" England said. "Besides I thought it was Rumpelstiltskin?"

"I think you got the wrong fella," Scotland said, took a swig from his whisky, burped loudly and then got up to go back to the cockpit.

"You are bloody joking!" England got up and followed him, still stinking of vomit.

"Well! That's just lovely isn't it?" Austria asked the rest of them.

"Of course I'm bloody joking!" Scotland said and laughed, "Bloody English, cannae take a joke!"

And then America said, "Artie?"

"Yes, Alfred?" England said with a sigh, sitting down with a flump. He'd been taken in by his idiot older brother, thrown up on by a totally ungrateful Austria and now nothing could surprise him.

"When does the mission start?"

England looked up, "What?"

"The mission? I thought we were going on a mission?"

"We've just done it," England responded slowly and emphasising each syllable. God, the 'boy' was daft.

"I thought that was just the training mission!" America said in disbelief.

* * *

In Switzerland's car…

"I zink zis is the beginning of a beautiful relationship…" France said, putting Switzerland's hand on his knee as Switzerland was trying to change gear.

"Shut up, you pervert!" Switzerland exploded (not literally). "As soon as we get back to Zurich you're getting on the first plane back to bloody London!"

"I knew you would not let ze nasty German get his filthy hands on me!" France responded, smiling.

Lily, in the back seat, was fast asleep.

"Yes well…This doesn't mean I'm taking sides. I'm still neutral. At least I got one over on him and his idiot bruder," Switzerland said.

"The problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in zis crazy world," France told him, incomprehensibly.

"Shut up, don't touch me and get your pants back on."

 ****The End****

Thank you, everyone for staying with this…


	16. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters do not belong to me and nor did I invent them - they are purely the imagination of Himaruya Hidekaz.**

 **Thank you for those who have reviewed, followed and favourited this story: TheWinchesterPony, Treebrooke, Elfqueen13, Fikushon sakka, Cthe, LunaTheBlackWolf, Hetalia Banzai, Elric Gurl, Red-Hot Habanero, fanfictionfanatic 42, 4368Howard, Kate Marley, Pastaaddict, Silent Searcher, Mely Val, Magicflyingmintbunnies, Just a stereotype, Alternative Dragons, Cu-cu for cocopops, ShrapnelGirl, MysteriousKatlover, Irish Maid, Kadek-is-the-best, Quity190, nekohime15, ApplePajama & Pandoala.**

 **Where Idiots Dare**

Epilogue

A few days after the Allies' escape...

"An F! You got an 'F'?" Switzerland's voice carried through the whole house. Lily hung her head in shame and clenched her fists behind her back. She was going to kill those Allies if it was the last thing she did.

"F for geography. A 'D' for history, well that's not bad. A 'U' for Maths? Is that right? Unclassified? Oh wait, an 'A' for English grammar…"

Lily smiled at the last one. England, at least, had come through.

"And…" Switzerland frowned, reading the note, "It says for French that you and I have to go see them. They've not even given a mark."

France, shit, Lily thought.

* * *

The teacher, a particularly stern-looking Swiss woman of indeterminate age, stared at them.

"Mr Zwingli, Lily, please sit down," she told them.

Vash already had. He looked very angry, but that was his default expression, Lily thought.

He hadn't shouted at her since that morning when the school letter had arrived, but she'd persuaded him it was all a mistake. He'd muttered quite a lot about the Homework Club being a bunch of idiots and then grounded her 'until the end of the war'. She was upset about this. She'd quite enjoyed being an undercover agent and had hoped to do more 'undercovering' as France had called it (although she was quite worried about this).

However, Marianne/France had been summarily sent back to London via a special flight after causing utter chaos in a Zurich nightclub. Zurich had always been a quiet city in the middle of this dreadful war. A haven. Not any more. France had managed to get himself a temporary job as a drag queen - Zurich's first (or probably the very first in the country) and had caused a riot which had led to the place being burnt down.

He'd also uncovered an undercover German spy ring, getting the perpetrators arrested.

France had also helped smuggled 24 Jewish families and 31 partisan fighters across the Austrian-Swiss border. All of whom were now camping in Vash Zwingli's back garden.

All this in the space of 48 hours.

"Why has Lily got such rubbish marks? She recently joined a Homework Club, and although I seriously doubt the intelligence of some of them," here, Switzerland was thinking of Italy, Saxony, Silesia and Prussia - in fact, all of them bar Germany), "I still cannot believe she got an F in geography or a U in maths! How is this possible? Her maths, like mine, are impeccable!" Switzerland finally stopped shouting and leaned back in his seat.

The teacher didn't say anything but pushed the homework sheets across the table.

This is where Lily realised she should have read through them before handing them in.

 _Geography:_

 _Q: Describe the differences between the Tropics of Cancer and Capricorn._

 _A: SUNFLOWERS_

 _Q: What is the meridian and where is it?_

 _A: SUNFLOWERS_

 _Q: What is the longitude and latitude? Explain in less than 50 words._

 _A: SUNFLOWERS_

 _Q: Name three countries within the Arctic Circle._

 _A: RUSSIA, RUSSIA AND RUSSIA_

Lily sighed. At least Russia had explained in less than 50 words. But she could see where she'd got the F. She really didn't want to explain this to Russia though.

Maths:

Solve this quadratic equation:

But the rest of the questions were obliterated by messy and childish cartoon drawings of Superman and Batman fighting along with explosions, a stars and stripes flag and exclamations of "POW", "BAM" and "SPLAT".

The history paper. Lily grabbed this with hope. "How can this get a D?" she asked. She knew Austria had written this one. Who else would know history as well as a 1000 year old Nation and he wasn't a complete idiot was he?

"You were asked to write a 2000 word essay on the reasons for the start of World War 1," the teacher said.

Vash' left eyebrow twitched, "And?" he asked.

"And Lily wrote over 5000 words on why, in essence, the… and I quote 'the Astro-Hungarian Empire held the whole of Central Europe in its power and kept the peace for over a hundred years' and that 'Napoleon was a jumped up, small, mean Frenchman with severe attitude problem not unlike a certain Francis Bonnefoy'," the teacher paused and raised an eyebrow.

Vash stood up, appalled and then sat back down.

"There's more… lots more," the teacher continued. "It gave me a headache. And the language…!"

"There was no swearing!" Lily protested. She knew Austria, for all his faults, never swore.

"No, the language was archaic. It's like it was written by a very angry, old man."

Well, it was, Lily thought.

"Hmmm…" Switzerland looked very suspicious, "Lily, you can tell me. Did you get someone else to write this for you?" he asked, looking at her.

"No bruder, honest," Lily said, turning big sad eyes on him.

"Really?"

"I might have got a little help…" Lily said slowly.

"The Homework Club?" Switzerland asked through gritted teeth.

"Well…"

"Did…" here, Switzerland almost choked on the name, "Did… Gilbert write it?"

"No!"

"Hmm…An angry old man… Oh my God! It was bloody Roderich!" Switzerland stood up and began stomping up and down without even waiting for Lily's response.

"I told you not to hang around with those… those Germanic idiots!" Switzerland shouted.

This was what Lily had been dreading. She also wondered at Switzerland's vehement opposition to Austria. She could understand his opposition to Prussia and Germany, particularly at the moment. But this anger towards his fellow Nations had gone on for a long time and she suspected long before she'd arrived on his doorstep.

Why, oh why had she insisted on those idiots doing her homework?

"As for the French homework… that's really what I wanted to see you about, Mr Zwingli," the teacher interrupted.

Oh no, Lily cringed.

"Frankly, I was very disturbed by it."

"Why?" Vash asked.

Lily tried to pull him away, "Well thank you… I'll try harder… if you just put me down a set or two…"

Vash glared at her. The teacher continued, ignoring Lily's protests, "Although it answered the questions…"

"So she should get an A or a B surely?" Vash said.

The teacher shook her head, "I'm sorry but I've been a teacher for over 30 years and in that time I've taught in private and public schools, even a prison and youth detention centres and I've never encountered any piece of work so debauched, so disturbing or degenerate. I passed this piece of homework to a psychologist who said it was the sign of a severely disturbed mind."

Lily hung her head, inside she was vowing to get her revenge on France. He should be grateful he's safely ensconced back in London, she thought.

"Lily! You are never ever meeting that Homework Club again!" Vash exploded.

"I know…"

"We're recommending Lily be placed in a class for disturbed children."

"Well, at least I got an A in English!" Lily said.

* * *

Two weeks later…

Germany woke up to the sound of someone knocking on his door and…snoring.

Wait, what? He was awake, how could he still hear snoring?

He jumped out of bed and then realised why.

"How did you get in my bed?!" he yelled at the prone figure of Italy curled up, naked, next to him.

Italy stirred, but didn't open his eyes, "Germany… it's too early…"

"Why are you in my bed? You weren't there last night. Get some clothes on! No, it's not early! It's 0900 hours and there's a war on! Mein Gott! Do I get no privacy around here?" he continued yelling as he jumped around trying to get his trousers on.

He finally opened the door, Saxony and Silesia stood grinning inanely.

One of them tried to peer past him but he blocked their view, "Well?"

"A message from Berlin, boss," one of them said.

"Well?"

"Yes, we are, thanks."

"Nein! I mean… what's the message?"

"Well, the codebreakers went through that bit of paper that fell out of Miss Liechtenstein's bag."

"And?"

"They worked on it for over two weeks."

"AND?" Germany's patience was wearing thin and he was aware that any minute Italy would eventually fall out of bed and his cover would be blown. He really didn't want them to know that Italy had slept in his bed. He didn't want to know that Italy had slept in his bed.

"They got their top people on it. Twenty people worked on it, night and day for fourteen days…" Saxony turned to Silesia and said, "That's two weeks isn't it?" Silesia nodded.

"And?"

"They left off all other code-breaking to do this. And the Major in charge has a message for you."

"Ja? What is it?"

"He said that you're an idiot and you've essentially wasted their time, like, big time."

"WHAT?!"

"He said that it's just a shopping list!" Saxony handed the slip of paper back to him, with a hardly concealed grin.

"It can't be!"

"It is, boss."

"Stop calling me boss. Call me 'Sir'."

"Ja, whatever," Saxony and Silesia stomped off, giggling.

Saxony turned back and yelled, "Oh by the way, Romano says to tell Feliciano he'll see him at 6.00 pm for the next pizza delivery shift."

"Okay, I'll tell him…" Germany muttered before he realised what he'd just said.

He closed the door and looked at the paper.

"Yay! A shopping list!" Italy said instantly, looking over his shoulder. "Wow, that's really cheap, Germany!" Italy began to read (which would have amazed Japan), "Half a potato? Who buys half a potato? Cheap cheese, two tomatoes? Only two tomatoes? Cheap brand tea, cheap brand coffee, three eggs? Who only buys three eggs?"

Germany suddenly realised something, "This is Switzerland's shopping list!" he yelled and flung himself to his knees in despair.

"Never mind, Germany. Do you want to play football?" Italy said, carefully patting the German on the shoulder.

"Ja, Italy. But please put some pants on."

* * *

Deep in the bowels of the mountain, hundreds of metres below the Castle Farting, Gilbert was on a mission.

He trod carefully, taking care that his footfalls didn't waken the horror that dwelt there.

Publicly, he told the others that he didn't believe in the legends of this place. But privately, he knew. He'd seen things. He was about to meet this horror, this un-named monstrosity, whose voice haunted his dreams and made him wake in the night in a cold sweat clutching his sheets (not pink fluffy sheets and if anyone said they were he would kill them).

"Beer!" came the call.

Its sound sent shivers down his spine. He almost turned to run, but didn't. Besides, he was a Prussian and Prussians never ran. Unless there were Russians coming after him. Or there was beer.

"Beer!" the monster called.

Prussia gulped. "I'm not scared," he muttered as he peered into the gloom.

He could see fire. A hint of horns and then a monstrous figure emerged through the gloom at the far end of the tunnel.

"Guten tag?" Prussia attempted.

"Beer!" the figure yelled. The voice so loud it blew back his hair.

"Beer… oh ja…" Prussia looked down at the crate he'd been carrying. "I brought some beer…"

The figure hugged him, "Pru is my friend," it said childishly. Its hair was stood up on end, a little hat perched on top. It had a wicked grin and fire enveloped it.

"Ja ja… can you cut out the cuddles, dude and put out that fire?"

"Ja!" the figure said, letting him go and blowing out the fire. It grinned at him moronically but expectantly.

"Oh ja… beer…" Prussia reached down and pulled open the crate, handing a bottle to the Denrog.

"Tak!" the Denrog said and drank the beer straight down in one gulp.

Prussia nodded nervously. But then he yelled, "Hey! Wait a minute!" as the Denrog proceeded to work its way through all 24 bottles.

The Denrog grinned at Prussia, "Tak Prussia! I can be Danmark again!" it said and bounded off towards the light.

Prussia harumphed, "He took all my beer," he said to himself.

"Freedom! Beer! Women!" the Denrog/Nation of Denmark yelled.

"Oh well…" Prussia shrugged. Not his problem.

**The End**


End file.
